Confessions & Cigarettes
by Alec Shields
Summary: Spending the night in a hotel room with the frontman for Nittle Grasper while on tour shouldn't be hard at all until Hiro realizes that Ryuichi Sakuma is just human.
1. one

**Disclaimers:** Gravitation is not owned by me and I am not making any profit off of this piece of fiction. I promise to put the characters back where I found them after I'm done.

**Author's Notes:** This idea came from out of nowhere - well, okay it came out of watching behind the scenes stuff on youtube and wishing I could understand Japanese to get the jokes. But after talking at how different people acted when they weren't on stage came to this little piece, which somehow had Hiro being the other character in a room with Ryuichi instead of someone like Hiro or Tohma. Enjoy.

* * *

**::Confessions & Cigarettes::**

_:::one:::_

What the hell?

Hiro stared, his supply of complementary soap falling to the ground. Ryuichi Sakuma stood under the spray of the shower, water splashing over the edge of the shower's stall on to the floor. Longish brown hair was slicked back from a face that was all angles, the sharp edges made more taunt by the curve of his shoulders, the defined back tapering down to sculpted legs. The Ryuichi he was used to looked skinny in faded jeans with only a hint of definition at the navel. Here, he could see that Ryuichi wasn't just a pretty guy. Here he saw control in the sharp muscles standing out over back and shoulders, lining hard along legs and arms.

"Can you close the door?"

Hiro jumped, nearly tripped over the small shampoo bottle and grabbed onto the door handle. Ryuichi didn't look up; he just rolled his shoulders and breathed out. Hard.

"The air's getting cold."

"Sorry," Hiro said, tried not to step on the conditioner and closed the door. He leaned against it, blinking rapidly and tried to wrap his mind around the fact that Ryuichi was in his shower. He knew that he was going to have to share a room with someone, but he'd thought that he would be bunking with Shuichi, not the lead singer for Grasper.

The doorknob jiggled in his hand and Hiro jumped back, his foot caught on the shampoo bottle and sent him to the ground. Luckily he landed on his hands and knees instead of his back, but still it stung his pride that he fell so easily. He shook his head and blinked as a hand was held out to him. He looked up and met Ryuichi's eyes. The singer's mouth curved, and Hiro laughed and got up with his help.

"I guess I'm all thumbs today," he said, pushing his hair out of his face. "I just didn't. . ."

"Expect to see me?" Ryuichi asked, tilting his head to the side. He was still smiling, a lopsided little grin that looked far more human than the sly smirks gracing his face during a concert or the wide innocent ones usually on his face when not on stage. "I lost the game."

"The game. . ?"

"We played poker to see who got the odd roomie," Ryuichi said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't play it that well so. . . here I am."

"But why are you sharing with me?" Just as soon as he said it, Hiro remembered who he was talking to and bit his lip, looking away. "Er, just forget I asked."

Ryuichi studied him for a moment and then smiled brightly and just as falsely as some of the expressions he'd seen on Tohma's face over the years. Was he actually getting used to reading the older man or did the rock legend actually wanted him to see that fake smile? Hiro's head hurt and he busied himself with picking up his spilt toiletries.

"Bathroom's free," Ryuichi said, waving at the door as he headed for the two twin beds in the main room.

Hiro glanced at the singer's back and fled into the bathroom. He almost locked the door but on second thought Hiro left it open. While he was certain that Ryuichi was strange, he didn't think that the older man would come barging in when he was taking a shower.

He really didn't understand what was going on any more with this whole tour. At first, they each had a room and the tour dates were spaced out at reasonable intervals. But then the rooms got smaller and they started sharing while the concerts got closer together. And then they were on the road, living out of a tour bus that felt far more cramped than Hiro thought was possible. It didn't help that Ryuichi and Shuichi fed off of each other, making the two bands divide the bus in half to keep the two singers from making each other too hyper to deal with. And now they were back to sharing hotel rooms.

Washing and drying himself off as fast as he dared, Hiro looked at the small mirror and sighed. He looked like he had been stuck in a bus filled with crazy people and just found freedom by chewing his way out of the wire mesh. He wrapped his hair up in a towel, hung the other one up and went to see exactly what Ryuichi was doing to the room.

Expecting the room getting re-painted with crayons and bouncy bunny tosses, Hiro stared at the sight of the Grasper lead singer sitting crossed-legged on a bed wearing a pair of low plaid pants while strumming a guitar. His hair was drying in feathery wisps around his face, and from where Hiro was standing he could see a darker stain on his right hipbone the beginning of some kind of tattoo.

"I hope you don't mind I took this one," Ryuichi said, stilling the strings of the guitar with the flat of his hand. "They're both the same."

"No," Hiro started and then cleared his throat as the word cracked. This was turning out very surreal. "No, it's fine."

Ryuichi smiled in that gentle crooked smile and picked out a slow tune on the guitar strings, his painted nails making excellent picks. Fingerpicking style, something that Hiro had heard of but never seen before was happening right in front of him and he didn't even know how to react at this display at a talent he never knew Ryuichi had in him.

"Hey, do you smoke?"

Hiro was glad he didn't have anything in his hands or he would have had a repeat of before. Taking a deep breath relax, it was Ryuichi Sakuma after all, he told himself Hiro nodded. Then realizing that Ryuichi wasn't looking at him but concentrating on the guitar, he said, "Well, I kind of do, but I can always go outside if I have the urge for one."

"Why?"

Those blue eyes. Hiro rubbed at the back of his neck and tried not to look directly at them. Years ago, he saw them peeking from an album cover in a bin with other not-so-popular groups. Picking it out had changed his life, especially when Shuichi got his hands on it. But ever since then, he always found himself wanting to know exactly how someone with such a strange eye color saw the world. It certainly had to make sense, given at how their music sounded even then.

"Shuichi is always telling me how bad smoking is for his voice."

"I'm not Shuichi." Ryuichi put his guitar down and stood up. Holding out his hand to Hiro, his smile gained a sharp edge. "And I would like to bum a smoke off of you."

"I. . . um. . . well. . ." Hiro found himself stuttering, staring at that hand, naked of rings and bangles. Then giving himself a shake, he fetched the fresh pack of cigarettes he'd bought earlier and gave it a few taps, trying to calm his racing mind. It didn't help that Ryuichi was watching his movements, his head tilted like he was memorizing every little piece of his ritual. Tapping the pack before opening it, taking a sniff after crumpling the cellophane, one more tap before drawing out the first cigarette and then holding the pack out to Ryuichi.

"I forgot to buy some earlier," Ryuichi said as if to explain for his request and then took a cigarette from the pack before handing the rest back. He put it in his mouth and dug in the pockets of his low fitting pants, taking out a small box of matches and lighting up. He breathed in, tossing his head back and exhaled, shaking the match out and flicking it with practiced ease into the lone ashtray.

He glanced over at him and those blue eyes shook Hiro out of his daze. The guitarist looked down at the pack and cigarette he held in his hands and took a deep breath. Okay, that he didn't expect. He didn't expect any of this. He walked over to his bed, putting the pack down, taking a moment to dig out his lighter and light up. He was proud that his hands were not shaking as he did so, but he had trouble trying to look over at the singer until he was finished.

But once the nicotine was in his lungs and he had a moment to take a deep breath, Hiro found himself looking over at Ryuichi, trying to figure out where this persona came from. He was strangely adult, strangely different than anything Hiro had expected. The guitar playing for one. The smoking for another. And the lack of anything that resembled a crayon or a bright pink rabbit. Maybe he was only dreaming. It wouldn't be the first time that he had odd dreams since this tour had begun.

Ryuichi had picked up the guitar again and was playing a slowhand blues piece, something that Hiro heard once and thought was pretty though he could never replicate the right sounds using a pick. With his hair hanging in soft feathers around his face and smoke lazily curling around him, he looked less like the youthful ball of energy that he projected to the world. He just looked like an old rocker relaxing after a hard gig. All he needed now was a glass of whiskey at his elbow.

"Are you okay?"

Hiro shook his head, looking up. Ryuichi was frowning at him, his fingers stilling on the strings. That look with the half-smoked cigarette in his mouth made his cheeks heat up. Hiro knew he wasn't completely heterosexual, but there was something wrong with associating anything close to his sudden thoughts to this version of the Grasper singer. He almost expected to get hit with Kumagoro any moment.

"I was just. . ." Hiro cleared his throat and looked around the room. "I don't see Kumagoro."

"Oh," Ryuichi said the word like it was the farthest thing from his mind, and pointed with his chin at a pet carrier sitting on the TV. "He's got his own bed."

Hiro blinked. "I thought. . ."

"Kumagoro doesn't like hotel beds. They make him itch," Ryuichi said in a sing-song voice, the odd, crooked smile on his lips. He glanced over at Hiro, looking like he was trying to figure something out and then he set the guitar down, getting up from his bed. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"No! I mean. . . I just. . ."

With every word, Ryuichi got closer and Hiro found himself falling back over his bed, choking on smoke. He arm was grabbed and he found himself getting yanked upright by the surprisingly strong singer and slapped on the back.

"Breathe, man," he said, slapping him again. "Don't freak out on me, just breathe."

Hiro coughed, sputtered and finally drew in a shaky breath, his eyes streaming as he looked up at Ryuichi. He was being held against the singer's naked chest, the bluest eyes he'd ever seen looking down at him in a mixture of worry and amusement. Somehow he lost his towel and his hair was a wet mess around his shoulders and face, and Hiro could imagine that he probably looked something like a mad drowned witch than a guitar player. And still Ryuichi held him.

"I'm sorry!"

Ryuichi laughed and pushed his hair from his face. "For what?"

Hiro opened his mouth. He closed it. He looked at the bare skin close to his nose and took a very deep breath. He tried pulling away but Ryuichi kept a hold on him, his blue eyes narrowed and dark and hiding all his thoughts.

"I didn't mean to bother you so much," Hiro said, wishing he could look away from those strange blue eyes.

"If you were, I would have told you by now." Ryuichi let go of him and sat back, taking his cigarette and leaning over to ground it out in the ashtray.

Hiro finger-combed his hair back, blinking as Ryuichi took another cigarette and lit up, the first exhale of smoke drifting around his head like a fairy's ring. This whole evening was like some strange dream, and Hiro wasn't sure if he should say something about the singer smoking like that, especially with how foolish he was feeling.

"I'd thought you were a pretty cool guy," Ryuichi said, leaning back against the wall and crossing his legs. "You really never seemed so freaked out by anything Shuichi did, which is a feat in its own."

"I'm pretty used to him," he said and reluctantly leaned over so he could ground his cigarette out and fetch his hair brush. Ryuichi didn't move except to flick ash into the ashtray while Hiro combed his hair out and tried to calm his mind down.

"But I'm different."

"I guess. . ." Hiro replied slowly, tying his hair back and putting the brush down. "I guess I've never seen you so. . ."

"Human?" Ryuichi smiled, winking and touching the side of his face with his left index finger. "I assure you, this god pisses and moans with the rest of humanity."

"Don't let Shuichi hear that," Hiro said and leaned over to get his pack of cigarettes. "He still can't picture you without Kumagoro except during your performances."

"Most people can't, so I usually don't try."

Hiro looked up from pulling a cigarette from the pack. "It's not an act?"

Ryuichi looked up at the ceiling, frowning as smoke lazily drifted past his nose. He shrugged, took the cigarette from his mouth and tapped it against the edge of the ashtray. His blue eyes looked murky as he brought the cigarette to his lips, the cheery brightening to a fiery red as he inhaled.

"I don't know. How do you know if a guitar has the right sound you need?"

"Huh?"

"I've noticed you play three different types of guitars for your song set. You've got a Telecaster, a Les Paul Studio, and a Hellraiser, yet it seems almost random when you pick up each one. You've only played the Hellraiser with the same song; otherwise I've noticed how you change them around."

"I don't know," Hiro replied, frowning as he lit up and inhaled. "I just know by how the crowd sounds."

"There. You've answered your question."

He glanced over at Ryuichi. The older man blew smoke through pursed lips, thoughtfully tapping ash into the ashtray. He hadn't really been asking a question, yet the answer made so much more sense when he thought about it. People expect Ryuichi to be the childlike star, so he acted the way they wanted, which brought even more adoration which demanded more of that childishness. Hiro couldn't imagine the endlessness of that cycle.

"It must be tiring."

Ryuichi placed his left foot on the bed, his leg bent at the knee and his arm resting the knee, the cigarette dangling from lax fingers. "You have no idea."

"I'm sorry."

The singer looked at him blue eyes sly and different and so alien compared to most. Hiro managed not to choke on his breath as Ryuichi smiled slowly, his expression something that belonged on stage and not on a bed in a private room. He leaned forward and brushed his lips over Hiro's.

"Thanks for the smokes."

With that, the singer ground out his cigarette, swung his legs off the bed and jumped onto his. Hiro blinked and tried dragging his jaw back into place. That he really did not expect.

"Goodnight!" Ryuichi called from his bed before tugging the blankets over his head. Hiro managed a reply but he didn't know if Ryuichi heard him.

He stayed up for most of the night trying to figure out what had just happened.


	2. two

**Author's Notes:** Rickenbacker guitars were made famous by bands like the Beatles and the Byrds during the 1960's. Ryuichi's guitar is a semi-acoustic hollowbody deluxe 330 model with an extremely rare green glow finish instead of the more common Fireglo, Jetglo, and Mapleglo finishes of the times. Information of Rickenbackers can be found at provide. net /~cfh/ rick. html for specs, and a database for various Ricks can be found at rickresouce. com /main/ where an article (under articles then Rickenbacker stories and then Factory Shaded Green) shows a couple pictures of what the green colored Rick looks like. Also Ryuichi refers to his grandparents using a familiar/close tone while his parents are in a more formal/distant tone if he was speaking in Japanese. English doesn't have that level of distinction save in a very weak way as shown here.

* * *

_::: two :::_

Where were they again?

Hiro stared at himself in the mirror, trying to muster up enough energy to take a shower and change into something soft before collapsing into bed. He didn't know how the older people on this tour managed to stay so energetic, but yet he and Shuichi had to drag themselves to their hotel rooms leaving the members of Nittle Grasper still bouncing around the back stage party, swiping drinks, posing for hungry crowds and playing pieces of music. Shouldn't Bad Luck be the ones in charge of the party while the old timers retired for the night?

Yet here he was, clinging to a basin while trying to muster enough strength to make it into the shower and wash the dried sweat off his skin. At least this was the last concert they would have for the next month something about some kind of show they needed to prepare for. He hadn't been paying attention when K was talking to them during Grasper's first set.

It was hard to pay attention to anything when they suddenly started stripping each other while performing, showing off the fact that their clothes were actually covering a second set of clothes that could have them arrested if they wore them any where else in the world. Tohma and Ryuichi helped each other and then they both went to Noriko, Tohma lifting her up and Ryuichi using his mouth on her zipper and, well, Hiro had blanked out everything for what felt like hours until he was on stage with the rest of Bad Luck.

And now he was here, wondering if this tour was slowly making him go insane. He certainly looked the part. All he needed now was a blood-stained shirt, some green-tinted foundation and he would be ready to go haunt the tour bus. But first, his legs needed to start working again.

"Hey, you okay?"

Hiro jumped, wind-milled his arms to keep from falling into the shower and looked over at the open bathroom door. Leaning against the door frame was one Ryuichi Sakuma, still in his full stage gear complete with a bright pink rabbit sitting on top of his head. Hiro swallowed and clutched the front of his shirt, feeling his heart pound rapidly. He didn't even hear the door open, let alone see the singer enter the room.

"I mean, you were staring so hard into the mirror and hanging onto the sink I thought you've died or something," Ryuichi continued, his voice a little louder than it needed to be in the small room. "Or are you high? That's really not something you should do, getting high only makes you crash harder after a gig."

"Ah, no. . . I'm not high, Hiro said, managing to get a word in and wondering how he knew that bit of information. Ryuichi blinked at him for a moment and then grinned. With the stage clothing and makeup, the smile looked less like something a child would use and more like a devil playing at innocence.

"Okay! Are you gonna take a shower?"

Hiro glanced at the shower. Since the scare had him able to feel his legs again, the idea of one sounded good. "I was just going to."

"Then I can wait!"

The singer nodded and bounced across the room, a feat that Hiro found himself watching with less innocent thoughts because of how tightly his clothing clung to Ryuichi's backside. Some how, the tight clothing was far more provocative than nothing at all, and Hiro yanked his mind away from the path it was going. Closing the door also helped and Hiro was finally able to crawl into the shower.

He pulled on some sleeping pants and combed his hair out, feeling tired but yet not as bad as before. Hiro tied his hair back and looked at the steamy mirror for some kind of answer behind Ryuichi's appearance in his room. He had thought that it had been just a single night since after that first night, Hiro had been rooming with Shuichi, but again here he was, in the same room with the Grasper frontman. Not that he had a tough time with the singer; on the contrary, Ryuichi had been so normal outside of that kiss.

Stepping out into the main room, he found Ryuichi tucking Kumagoro into that small pet carrier, humming to himself. The older man looked up from his task, touching his lips with his right index finger and Hiro found himself being extra quiet as he settled on the bed without the guitar case and digging out the song lists for the next few dates. Ryuichi snuck around the room before disappearing into the bathroom and Hiro remembered that he really didn't need to look at the lists since they were doing something special in a month's time. Inhaling, he rolled his shoulders and put the lists away. He fidgeted for a moment before turning on the tv but after flipping through the stations, he turned it back off. He glanced at the half-open bathroom door and got out his cigarettes.

Half way through his second one, Ryuichi came out of the bathroom with his stage gear under one arm and a towel in his other hand as he scrubbed at his hair. Hiro again saw the hint of some kind of tattoo as the singer passed - a slash of black riding his hipbone and disappearing under the low-riding plaid pants he was wearing. Ryuichi tossed the stage gear on top of the guitar case and bent down, snagging the strap of a messenger bag and tossing it onto the bed as well. The towel was slung over his right shoulder and the singer dug out a couple things, set them aside and shoved the stage gear into the bag before pushing it off the bed. Then glancing at Hiro, Ryuichi tossed one of the items at him.

Hiro caught it without thinking, cellophane crackling under his fingers. Looking up as he heard a familiar slap of a pack of cigarettes hitting the palm of a hand, Hiro raised the new pack in a half-salute. Ryuichi smiled and ripped off the cellophane from his pack, tapped the top twice and opened it. The first cigarette he took out he flipped over and pushed it back into the pack before selecting a different cigarette.

"You didn't have to give me a new pack," Hiro said, setting it down next to his open pack.

"I know, but this way I won't smoke all of it at once," Ryuichi replied around his cigarette. He struck a match and inhaled. "Touring always turns me into a freak with the smokes if I don't watch it."

"Why?" Hiro bit his lip and looked away. He really shouldn't be questioning someone like Ryuichi all the time.

"You know, I don't think anyone has asked me that before," Ryuichi said. Hiro looked up at the singer, seeing a tired, rueful smile spread across his lips. "Noriko and Tohma get worried that I will ruin my voice so I'm always sneaking out to have one before bed, but they never really asked why I need it so much."

"Maybe they already figured it out without needing to ask."

"Probably. They got me to cut back before we really started making it big." Ryuichi tossed the towel across the room and snapped open the guitar case, taking out the same apple green guitar he had been playing the last time they shared a room. "I guess it's a way to get my mind to calm down. It is part of a ritual, you know?"

"Like the guitar playing?"

Hiro wondered what happened with his manners even as Ryuichi looked up from the guitar, wet bangs curling against his face and shadowing his blue eyes. The singer stared at him for several moments, smoke curling around him, and then he snorted to himself, reaching up and taking the cigarette out of his mouth. With his other hand, he wrapped his fingers around the neck of his guitar and held it out to Hiro. Hiro stared at the guitar, at the square-edged body and the cat-eye soundhole, the strong fingers wrapped firmly around the neck, and then he gently took the guitar.

It was heavier than he would have thought, but what had he thought exactly when he first saw that guitar? The green sunburst finish was worn in a few places, the fretboard with the shark-fin inlays showing signs of heavy use and there was a cigarette burn on the upper horn of the body. Hiro ran his fingers over the _'Rickenbacker'_ logo on the head, the golden pickguard, and the four stove knobs. Hiro strummed a chord and listened at the sound until it faded. A sweet voice with undertones of a growl, although the color. . . Hiro held the guitar out to Ryuichi and the singer took it back.

"Nice," Hiro said, and ground out his cigarette butt in the ashtray. "Did you get it refinished to get that color?"

Ryuichi strummed a couple chords and shook his head. "No, it's the original finish. Grandma said that an American sweetie gave it to her as a goodbye present."

Hiro looked over at him, and Ryuichi laughed at the expression that crossed his face.

"She wasn't that," he said, rolling his eyes. "I swear. . . Grandma did a lot of work with the government as an interpreter and stuff like that for the different businesses and people visiting the country."

"She did?" Hiro wasn't sure if that was better than his original thought or not. Ryuichi glanced at him, winking as he played an F-flat chord.

"Grandma was something else. It always made Father annoyed when she showed up with a new tale and something to give me."

"What did her husband think of her?"

"Grandpa? He usually just let her prattle on. He said the best woman was one that completes one's nature instead of bowing to it."

"That. . ." Hiro looked at the odd-color guitar and the singer holding it, blue eyes old against a youthful face while smoke curled around him. "Sounds like a very wise man."

"Sometimes, I think he was wiser than anyone I had ever known."

"And other times?"

"I think my whole family was mad." Ryuichi put the guitar back in its case and closed the lid before setting it on the floor. He leaned over and put his cigarette out, blowing a small smoke ring as he exhaled. "Do you feel like you can sleep now?"

"I. . ." Hiro paused and thought about it. He had felt tired before, but it was the kind of tired that would have made him awake while trying hard to sleep. But now, he felt relaxed enough to where he could sleep, all the thoughts and the wrung out tightness of his muscles gone. "I think I could."

"That's good," Ryuichi said and kicked his blankets down, wiggling under them and yanking the rest up over his head. "Tomorrow's going to be brutal."

"Tomorrow. . . what?"

"Goodnight, Hiro!"

He stared at the lump that Ryuichi had become for a long moment before huffing and grabbing another cigarette. Maybe after he had another one he would get the questions that comment gave him out of his head. That is, if he was lucky.


	3. three

**Author's note:** We shall soon get out a bit more and see the rest of the world as this story progresses. And there is a bit of give and take in the answers between the two men and a touch of flirting and maybe a tiny bit of an angry Ryuichi.

* * *

Brutal was an understatement. They had been woken before dawn and packed into the bus, where K and Sakano went over their schedules. Then Tohma took control, going over what the two managers told them. Then they were hustled out of the bus and into a small airplane and were flown to Tokyo, and then took a train the rest of the way to Yokohama. There they met some people from the press and a whole gaggle of other managers from other labels. A few explosions later, Tohma had control of the crowd and started directing them around as well, using the members of Bad Luck and Grasper as bouncers and messengers. There were more orders. There were more explosions. Someone brought a giant panda mecha and tossed a few cars around. And when everyone's ears stopped bleeding, Tohma calmly stated that in three days all the bands needed new song lists.

If Hiro had thought the bands were already panicked enough, he was left dumb by how everyone reacted to news outside of members of Grasper. Even his bandmates, used to how N-G worked, spent the next minute running around like headless chickens. Hiro just sighed and snuck away from the general chaos, finding a spot out of the way to watch until everything settled down. It took a while until everyone was either unconscious or busy.

That was when the real work begun.

So it was late when Hiro managed to drag himself to his hotel room and let himself in. He could have gone home, but then Shuichi opened his big mouth and then Tohma decided that no one was going anywhere until their songs were completed. To make matters worse, Tohma had gotten K on his side, so there was no appeal there. Even the other bands were stuck since he took over the whole show, even to the point that appealing to heads of the various labels wouldn't work.

"I don't know about you, but I almost strangled that boy."

Hiro stopped unlacing his shoes and looked up, seeing that again he was not alone in the room. Ryuichi was sitting on a bed, his apple green guitar on his lap, and Kumagoro's pet carrier sitting on the table between the two twin beds. He was wearing his hip-hugging plaid sleeping pants, but he hadn't stripped off the bangles and rings from his hands and wrists. They made a clicking sound as Ryuichi ran a hand through his hair, blue eyes narrowed and his mouth a hard thin line.

Toeing off his shoes, Hiro stepped fully in the room and sighed, rubbing at his forehead. "It's not really his fault you know."

"That doesn't mean I wished he could have kept his mouth shut for just five minutes," Ryuichi said, his arm dropping and hugging the body of his guitar against his chest. "We all had people we wanted to see tonight. Tohma had forgotten about making us stay until Shuichi reminded him."

"He was just excited," Hiro said and shrugged. He did not feel like arguing with anyone, especially not with an angry Ryuichi. "He just loves Eiri-san so much he can't keep his mouth shut about the guy."

Ryuichi stared at Hiro for a long moment and then snorted, bending his head down and playing with the machine heads on his guitar. Hiro let his breath out and placed his bag on the unclaimed bed. He took out his traveling kit and went to take care of his nightly routine. When he came out, Ryuichi was playing the guitar using a pick, the notes a half-familiar snarl of sound.

"Why don't you play guitar for Grasper?"

The guitar made a jumbled growl as Ryuichi stopped and looked up at him, blue eyes narrowed and the skin around them taunt. Hiro looked back and tried not to fidget, keeping his expression carefully neutral. He figured that if he could get the singer's thoughts away from something destructive and get him to talk, then maybe he wouldn't lay awake wondering if Ryuichi was going to try to harm Shuichi. It had been a couple years since Ryuichi had stirred up his fans and sent them after Shuichi but he still remembered at how hurt Shuichi had been.

And to tell the truth, there were times that Shuichi still felt hurt about it, although he never actually came out and said it.

Whatever he saw in his face had Ryuichi sigh and shake his head, weaving the pick into the top two strings of his guitar and setting it down. He leaned over the side of his bed and opened a drawer, taking out a half-filled pack of cigarettes and tapping one free. He lit up and inhaled the lines of his face relaxing a little, giving an illusion of youthfulness again.

"We decided that the guitar part can be easily made on the snyths instead of me sawing away all the time."

"But. . ."

Ryuichi sat up, planting his left foot on the bed, leg bent at the knee and his right leg dangling over the side. He cocked his head to the side and his lips twisted. "But what?"

"You're good," Hiro said, almost in a whisper.

Again the hard stare. Ryuichi looked for a long moment at him and then started laughing, falling over to his side with one foot in the air and his right hand dangling over the edge of the bed. He stifled his laughter by burying his face against his pillow, shoulders shaking and his cigarette threatening to set fire to the covers. Hiro frowned and sucked hard on his cigarette, wondering what was so funny.

After a minute of muffled laughter, Ryuichi pushed himself upright, his eyes bright and face red from all that laughter. He hiccupped and ground out his cigarette butt into the ash tray, taking out a fresh one and lighting up. Still grinning, he pointed the cigarette at Hiro. "I'm good now."

Hiro blinked. "But it takes years of practice to get that good."

"And I had those years, but when we started out, I was still using a chord book for our songs." Ryuichi blew a smoke ring, tapping ash into the ashtray. "I even had these little stickers to put under the strings so I wouldn't forget which one was which."

"But. . ."

"Again with the 'buts'. . . Hiro, you really are a different kind of guy."

Hiro felt his face burn. Ryuichi smiled slowly, cupping his right elbow with his left hand while holding his cigarette at an angle to his face. He no longer looked so upset but Hiro wasn't sure if he should continue. All his questions were doing was making Ryuichi laugh.

"Hardly anyone 'buts' me anymore," Ryuichi said with a wistful sigh. "I could suggest we dye Tohma's hair pink with orange dots and they will agree."

". . .Didn't you played guitar for the first album?" Hiro asked, toying with the paper on his filter, ripping it a little.

"I did. By that time, I at least remembered what string was for what note and range. But after that, we decided to let the keyboard handle the guitar part and I'll handle the singing and lyric writing."

He tried imagining that. Seeing that face with those sly blue eyes bending over his apple green guitar, hammering away at the notes while the other two Graspers made faces and shook their heads. And then going through show after show, singing while wielding that guitar, trying to make people see exactly how different the Graspers were.

"That was my favorite album of yours," Hiro said, grinding out his cigarette. "After it, everything just started sounding so smooth."

"We actually started working with our producers instead of fighting them," Ryuichi replied, sucking on his cigarette. "By the time 'Purple Nurple' came around, we've learnt enough to do it all ourselves."

"Is that what Seguchi trying to do with us?"

"Are you learning anything?"

Hiro thought back on their last album, at how Tohma pulled out all but an assistant and a couple studio musicians to finish off the edges. While Shuichi tried helping out around the studio, Hiro found himself behind the mixing board more and more, playing with the different sounds it did to their tracks.

"I think so. . ."

"Don't think that Bad Luck's not important to N-G," he said, blowing one last ring before he snuffed his cigarette out. "Don't ever think that. I gave Shuichi my place for a reason, and for good or bad, the rest of you are a part of it."

". . . I guess we are."  
B Ryuichi picked up his guitar and tugged the pick out of the strings. He looked at it for a moment and then flipped it over to Hiro's lap. Hiro frowned and picked it up, turning it over in his hands and feeling the worn edges scrape across his calluses.

"You really shouldn't be using this," Hiro said, flicking the pick against his thumbnail and feeling the give. "It's almost at the snapping point."

"I know, but it knows me and my tricks." Sly blue eyes met his and Ryuichi's mouth stretched into a dazzling smile made wicked by the touch of his tongue against his lower lip. "But now it can learn yours."

Hiro looked at the pick. Just a normal pick, made out of a bit of plastic dyed a bright purple and then shaped into a triangle. The logo was American, as was the name, and Hiro turned the pick over a couple times trying to figure it out.

"I take it you aren't that good with English."

"I know some," Hiro replied, putting the pick down next to the ashtray. "I always thought I would learn more when I got into med school."

"So you're the brains?" Ryuichi arched an eyebrow, looking up from packing away his guitar.

"Sometimes. Sometimes I'm the brawn."

". . .Huh."

"Someone has to be the center for the band," Hiro said, feeling the need to explain things to the legend.

Ryuichi snapped his case closed and set the guitar next to the bed, raising an eyebrow at Hiro's tone. "Isn't that what Shuichi is?"

"No, he's the heart."

"In some cultures the heart and the center are the same," Ryuichi said, kicking at his blankets, his pants sliding even lower than before. Hiro looked away, fighting the urge to watch and maybe get more than a glimpse of that tattoo. Bed springs creaked, and Hiro looked back, watching the singer shift around until he could yank the blankets up.

"And for some cultures the center is the rock for everything else to lean against."

"Ah, I get you." Ryuichi saluted him, bangles chiming softly. "Is that why I've never heard of you dating?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

The older man turned over, presenting his back towards Hiro. "Goodnight, Hiro."

He stared at the singer's back, wondering where he picked up such an annoying habit. It wasn't American, precisely. He knew they could be rude and lacking some modesty - or a lot - but asking questions and just not waiting for a person to respond, well, that was just plain weird. Maybe a piece of his everyday face snuck into his private face. Or maybe he did it to annoy him. Whatever the case, Hiro needed to plan out their next meeting so he was ready for the singer's strange comments.


	4. four

**Author's notes:** So now they are out of the hotel and things are starting to pick up, though at a very slow pace. Tohma also is sticking his nose in things and we see a little playful Ryuichi here as well. 'Planet Waves' are a type of pick that has a spiral cutout in the top of the pick, making them easier to hold on to underneath hot lights. Most guitar players have their own favorite brands to use and it is not unusual to see them order customized picks for either special occasions or for stage performances. Ryuichi uses a heavy gauge Duralin pick that he orders in purple while Hiro uses a standard thin Clayton pick in off-white, so it's not a big stretch of the imagination for someone to see the differences.

* * *

**::: four :::**

By the second day of their three day writing spree, Hiro was willing to set fire to the whole building of musicians and leave. It wasn't the constant noise. It wasn't the constant whining. It wasn't the constant attempts of suicide from the more high-strung artists. It was all of it. Hiro thought that hanging around Shuichi had made him immune to most drama, but he was surprisingly mild compared to some of the people out there.

He did manage to drown it all out and do some productive composing by shutting himself up in a small studio and letting his fingers play. He brought Ryuichi's purple pick with him, and he found that despite the give, it played rather well. Hiro flexed his fingers and looked at the strange logo, feeling his head cleared a little.

"Planet Waves?"

He started, his hand closing around the pick. Tohma was standing in the doorway, looking neatly pressed in an olive suit with a ruffled purple shirt, his ever-present hat on his head. If he didn't know any better, Hiro would have sworn that Tohma had just stepped out of a business meeting instead of spending the last three hours in a studio with the rest of his band.

"I guess?" he replied, opening his hand and looking down at the pick. Now that Tohma had pointed it out, he could see that some of the letters had worn off from use.

"Ah, I see. I had thought you used a different brand, Nakano-san."

"I do, but this other guitarist said to try it out, so. . ." Hiro shrugged. He wasn't sure if Tohma would have approved of his knowing about Ryuichi's hobby.

"I see." Tohma stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, his eyes closed and a gentle smile on his face. Hiro clutched at his guitar, the pick digging into the palm of his hand as he waited. Tohma had that look on his face, and while Hiro never had been the one receiving it, he knew that some how, some way, he had messed up.

"I find it rather odd that this other guitarist told you to try it out when I know of only one person who uses that type of pick," Tohma said, opening his eyes and staring straight at him. "What kind of guitar does he play?"

"Tohma."

The door had opened again. Ryuichi stepped inside, closed the door shut and leaned against it, his arms crossed over his chest and blue eyes narrowed and pale against his face. Tohma turned, his voice feigning surprise. "Ah, Ryuichi, you did not have to follow me."

"Leave him alone."

"I did not know I was bothering Nakano-san."

Ryuichi looked over Tohma's shoulder at Hiro and he could almost swear he had winked before switching to English and saying something rapid and barely with the hint of an accent. Tohma sighed and said something back, his English marred with a slight accent. Hiro could only watch Ryuichi's expression, only managing to catch one word out of five with their rapid pace. But what he caught was enough for him to piece together why Tohma had become mad with him.

Hiro's cheeks flushed and he lowered his head, hoping the other two wouldn't notice it. They didn't and after a few minutes, their tone changed as Ryuichi relaxed against the door and Tohma sounded almost apologetic. Ryuichi stepped forward and tugged Tohma into a hug, resting his forehead against his and saying something softly. Tohma sighed and pulled away, murmuring something in reply and then he looked over his shoulder at Hiro, frowning.

"It seems I misjudged you, Nakano-san, he said, rubbing his forehead. "These last few days have been stressful for all of us, and I am afraid that even my judgment has suffered because of it."

From somewhere, Hiro managed to sound collected about seeing two legends fight like a couple normal guys. "It's okay. Everyone is stressed out about this concert."

"Do you know why this concert is so important?"

Hiro glanced over to Ryuichi. The singer was frowning, his long fingers toying with the edge of the tank top he was wearing. Outside of that, he didn't seem too stressed by the direction Tohma's question was going in, so Hiro looked back at Tohma and shook his head. Tohma smiled, looking less like a stern businessman and more like a boy with a big secret.

"We are having an international concert, Nakano-san," he said. "Next week, representatives from several countries will come here to coordinate their song lists with our song lists. At the end of this month, this concert will be broadcast all over the world for two whole days."

Hiro felt his eyes grow wide. A world-wide event. No wonder why Tohma was acting the way he was concerning the music. No wonder he was holding everyone prisoner in this place until he was certain they were doing their best. No, not their best. They had to be beyond their best.

"Thank you for telling me this," he said, swallowing at the sudden dryness in his mouth. First the argument over his spending time with Ryuichi and now this. It was enough to make him hide in a bathroom until this month was over.

"I am only telling you a day ahead of the rest of the bands," Tohma said. "The real announcement will happen tomorrow during the afternoon news."

Tohma glanced over at Ryuichi. The two men didn't say anything but Hiro had a feeling that there was some kind of warning and well-wishing going on between them. Then bowing goodbye, Tohma left the room, leaving Hiro in Ryuichi's company.

For a long moment, Hiro found himself looking at Ryuichi's scruffy sneakers, not sure at what to say now that he was alone with the singer. He knew what they were talking about during their argument, even if he only caught a half of what was said. Ryuichi liked him. How could Hiro respond to that? Shouldn't he try to defend his sexuality?

"You must have understood some of that, right?"

Hiro looked up. Ryuichi just looked amused, his hands behind his back and his blue eyes bright. Hiro felt his cheeks flush and he looked away, licking his lips. What should he say? Deny it? Tell him that he didn't swing that way even though he has had some very evil thoughts about yanking Ryuichi's low pants down and licking that tattoo he had spotted at the hotel?

"Hiro, relax."

"But. . ."

"You are awfully fond of that word. . ." Ryuichi sighed and left the door, coming over to him and squatting down. Hiro found himself looking down into bright blue eyes made brighter by makeup. "I said I like you, as in you're a neat guy to hang around with, not that I was going to take you to a love motel and screw you into the matress."

"You're not?" Hiro winced, his voice an octave higher than normal. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "You're not?"

"Why do you sound so disappointed?" Ryuichi replied, touching his thumb against his lower lip and winking. "Do you really want to go some place sleazy and have a little fun?"

"No. . ."

Ryuichi chuckled and leaned forward, some how managing to wiggle into his personal space. Hiro hugged his guitar tight against his chest, trying not to breathe deeply because he could smell Ryuichi - a mixture of sweat and cologne and the shampoo he used in his hair. Hiro's throat was parched and he tried not to move back because he knew he would fall over. And yet still Ryuichi was moving closer.

"Boo," Ryuichi whispered in his ear, and pulled away, sitting back on his hands and letting Hiro breathe again. "Seriously, what's wrong with you? You're always so tense around me. It's not like I bite."

"That wasn't funny," Hiro said, frowning and managing to get his voice back.

Ryuichi blinked and shrugged. "I thought it was. You act like you never had gay best friend before."

"But you're not my gay best friend!" Did he just yell at Ryuichi? Hiro groaned and closed his eyes. What was wrong with him? He usually didn't things bother him as much as he let Ryuichi.

"So the only person that's allowed to mess with you is Shindou?"

Hiro paused before answering. Ryuichi didn't look or sound angry, but he couldn't tell. He didn't know the singer well enough to tell the subtle differences in his voice. All they have done was shared a room three times. It wasn't enough for him to understand just how far he could go before the singer would get serious.

"It's just. . . I really don't know you that well," Hiro said, running a hand through his hair. "And that was a bit. . . well, weird."

Ryuichi made a face and gave a snort, getting on to his feet and dusting off his rear. "Too American, you mean?"

"Yeah," Hiro replied, feeling a little giddy he gotten over that bump.

"Then just tell me," the singer replied. "Honestly, I wouldn't be offended if you told me I was acting too American."

Hiro blinked. That sounded far too simple for him to comprehend considering how swamped he had been feeling lately. Maybe he was over-reacting when it came to Ryuichi. He eased his grip on his guitar and took a deep breath. "Oh."

"So anyways, how would you like to go grab something to eat?"

"You mean we can sneak away? Wouldn't Tohma get mad?"

"Let me deal with Tohma. Besides, he's probably out getting some take out anyways."

In response, his stomach let out a loud gurgle, reminding Hiro that breakfast was a long time ago and only consisted of a couple rice crackers and a bowl of lukewarm miso. Biting his lower lip, Hiro got up and packed away his guitar. "I guess I do. Just let me drop off my gear at the room and then we can go."

"Okay. I'll meet you out front."

Ryuichi waved over his shoulder, going out the door. Hiro stayed where he was for a moment or two longer, taking the time to calm himself down from the past half hour. And then, he got up, picked up his guitar case and headed for the hotel.


	5. five

**Author's Note:** Some more secrets come out into the open concerning Ryuichi and Hiro finds himself gaining even more questions. When will he get answers? Well, that is up to how the story works out.

* * *

They took a cab from the hotel, Ryuichi wearing a short sleeve shirt over his tank top and slacks and looking very causal, Hiro still in his tee shirt and jeans, and both wearing sunglasses against the possibility of getting recognized. After the cab dropped them off, Ryuichi led the way down the streets, not saying much to Hiro as they walked. Hiro for his part didn't say much back, just glad that they were out of the studios and away from work. He felt a pang of guilt over skipping out on the rest of Bad Luck, but they were probably on break as well.

Ryuichi stopped at a street light and rocked back on his heels, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Hiro joined him, squinting up at the bright sun and feeling the cool air tug at his hair. The singer glanced at him - blue eyes half hidden by his purple-tinted granny glasses - and grinned.

"Do you see that eatery up ahead?"

Hiro frowned, seeing an off-white sign with bright red kanji announcing food beyond the lights. "Yeah, I think so."

"Race you there!"

Ryuichi took off, crossing the street despite the lights being against them. Hiro winced, cursed and took off after him, dodging a couple cars and hoping that no one realized who they almost ran over. Someone honked and without breaking his stride, Ryuichi flipped them off, hit the sidewalk and accelerated. Hiro bit his lip and followed, ignoring the loud yelling. For shorter man, Ryuichi could run, and he was at the door to the small eatery before Hiro managed to catch up to him.

Grinning widely, he draped his arm over Hiro's shoulders and dragged him inside. Hiro had an impression of low booths arranged around a central seating area before he was dragged through the dimly lit room and past a beaded curtain into a brightly lit room filled with steaming pots and mingling smells of hot oil and salt. Two elderly people in matching aprons looked up from rolling out dough on a long table at their entrance. Ryuichi let Hiro go and tackled first one and then the other, lifting them up and spinning them around before setting them down.

"Yuudai! Emi! Meet Hiroshi!"

The guitarist found himself surrounded by the two cooks. Trying to pretend like it was everyday he was dragged into a restaurant to meet the owners; he smiled and sketched a bow. "I'm sorry for bothering you. . ."

"Oh, do not worry about that, young man," Emi said, smiling and wiping flour-covered hands on her apron. "Ryuichi is always barging in on us without any warning."

"At least this time he is not in full stage gear," Yuudai added, adjusting his glasses and leaving streaks of flour on his face. "Hiroshi, was it? What is your family name?"

"Nakano."

"Huh, that is not a familiar name, is it, Emi?"

"He is not from around here, I do know that," she replied, smiling and taking Hiro's hands in hers. "Welcome to our place, Hiroshi."

"Thank you" he replied.

Emi smiled and turned back to Ryuichi, picking up a wooden spoon and smacking his out-stretched fingers. Ryuichi yelped and moved away from a steaming pot of food, donning one of the most hurt expressions Hiro had seen in a long time.

"I suppose they are hungry," Yuudai said, already putting together a small tray on the other side of the long table. "It is not like Ryuichi comes to see us any other time."

"I'm hurt! I visit you two whenever I have a chance and you know that."

This time Yuudai was the one to smack him, using the flat of his hand across the back of his head. "Idiot," he said, smiling as he did so. Ryuichi huffed, rubbing at the spot and then blinked as a tray loaded with a small tea pot and two cups was shoved under his nose.

"Go sit down and we will bring the rest of the food out when it is done."

"They never let me cook," Ryuichi said, sniffing even as he took the tray. "They are so mean."

"Ryuichi, you can burn water," Emi replied, shaking her head before shooing the two musicians out of the kitchen. Torn between being amused and wondering exactly who those two people were, Hiro followed Ryuichi to a booth and slid into the seat opposite of Ryuichi.

He set the tray down and poured tea for them both, sliding a cup over to Hiro. "So, what do you think?"

Hiro picked up his cup, taking a sip of the bitter hot tea as he looked around. It was quiet - Hiro was more used to having screaming fans showing up whenever he and Shuichi stopped at their usual haunts. There were a couple old men in a corner booth, playing Go and drinking out of small round cups. Thin slants of light fell through bamboo blinds onto the floor, dust shifting with the movement of the air. Everything was in warm earth colors with cool accents of green and blue, and very simple looking.

"It's not what I expected," he answered, taking another sip of tea.

"You were thinking that I dined out at fancy places all the time?"

"It did cross my mind."

Ryuichi laughed, running his fingers around the edge of his cup. "I'm a pretty simple guy when I'm not in the public's eye."

Hiro looked at Ryuichi for a long moment, trying to fit the term 'simple' against what he saw of the singer. Parts of him seemed very simple indeed, but other parts were so deep that he felt that he would never understand him. Like why did he feel the need to show him this? Why did Ryuichi spend time with him? Why him? There were more interesting musicians in the N-G studios than a simple guitar player.

The quiet air was disturbed by a loud bang followed by a high pitched voice yelling 'I'm home!' Ryuichi jumped out of his seat like his strings were pulled, tea sloshing from his turned over cup on the table. Trying to wipe up the spilt tea, Hiro didn't notice at first that Ryuichi looked both paler and tenser than normal, and that the sounds from the kitchen and the two old men in the corner had fallen silent. He did notice the young girl in a school uniform standing in the slanted light from the doorway, a neon green bookbag in one hand and a hat in the other hand, her eyes wide. Hiro looked at Ryuichi's back, seeing the way his shoulders were set, the way his whole body looked ready to collapse like a proud building giving in to time and thoughtless hands. Then the girl shrieked, dropping her bag and hat to the ground and ran to him. He picked her up and swung her around, the excited cries of 'Daddy!' breaking the air into tiny golden shards.

In the crowded half-minute of time, Ryuichi and the girl exchanged a half dozen sentences that poured into Hiro's ear and out the other side without actually touching his brain. He was frozen, a handful of sopping wet napkins in his hand and mouth open, the world having shifted from under his feet again. He could accept Ryuichi having a sexual side - the singer had shown that on and off the stage. He could accept that Ryuichi probably had a number of lovers and that he probably will have a lot more when he went back to L.A. Hiro just couldn't wrap his mind around Ryuichi having a child.

Settling her on his hip, Ryuichi turned to Hiro and smiled. "Hiro, this is Hikari. Hikari, this is Hiro. He works with N-G too."

She peered up at him from under messy bangs, and then hid her face against Ryuichi's side. The singer laughed and bent down, setting her on the ground and tousling her hair. She turned, peering at Hiro with large light brown eyes before hiding her face again.

"I guess she is being shy," Ryuichi said, looking up at Hiro. He smiled and crouched down to Hikari's eyelevel. "Why don't you pick your stuff up and put it away. Then you can join us, okay?"

Nodding, she sped off and Ryuichi watched her for a moment or two before getting up and sliding back into his seat. Hiro sucked in his breath and looked around to find a place for the used napkins. Ryuichi turned his cup upright and filled it up again.

". . .You okay, man?"

"I think I'll have white hair before this month is out," Hiro replied, putting the napkins to the side and rubbing his face. "I just. . . too many shocks, I guess."

"I know what you mean," he replied, his fingers toying with his cup. In the background, Hiro could hear Yuudai and Emi and Hikari, their voices a blur of sound accented by the hiss of steam and oil. "It is a big shock. Word of advice, always carry extra just in case the first one breaks."

"What?"

Sly blue eyes looked at Hiro over the top of his sunglasses, and mobile lips twisted into an amused smirk as the singer purred. "You're planning on remaining celibate all your life?"

Heat flooded his cheeks, but before he could think of a reply, Hiro felt his seat shift. He looked over and blinked at the girl who had climbed into the booth next to him and leaned forward, her tiny hands resting on his leg for balance. She studied him for a long moment, nodded to herself and then broke out into a smile that was an echo of Ryuichi's.

"Hi!"

"Hi," he said, glancing out of the corner of his eyes. Ryuichi looked amused and something more, leaning back in his seat and taking a sip of his tea.

"Are you dating daddy?"

He thought he couldn't blush any more, but that comment brought more heat to his face. He groaned and tried to look anywhere but at her or Ryuichi. Across from him, Ryuichi was coughing harshly, sloshing tea out of the cup in his hand and his face turning red.

"No. . . We're just friends."

"Hikari. . ." Ryuichi gasped out, thumping his chest with his free hand. "Where. . ?"

"Miss Kumi says that it's in for singers to date guys cuz of the Lucky singer dating the scribbling guy," she said, bouncing in her seat and smiling. "I didn't tell her that daddy's a singer but I gotta ask cuz you only bring people you really like or people you really want to like you here."

"Oh dear Lord," Ryuichi groaned and smacked his head against the table.

Hiro coughed and looked down at the little girl. "How old are you, Hikari?"

She blinked and looked up, painfully reminding Hiro of Ryuichi when he was in full-blown child-mode. "I'm six!"

"And how old is Miss Kumi?"

"Miss Kumi is my teacher!"

"Miss Kumi talks to you about singers?" Hiro asked, having mentally translated 'Lucky singer' into Shuichi and 'scribbling guy' into Eiri.

"Well, she only talked a little about the one cuz she went to their concert the other day and everyone asked her about it and then she talked a little about her big secret crush and how much she wished she was the scribbling guy," she said in a big rush, not even pausing for breath.

"Oh," Hiro replied while trying hard to not think about the implications of that statement. He shook his head. "But Hikari, such questions aren't right to ask in front of a whole bunch of people."

"They aren't?"

"They aren't." Hiro nodded and leaned forward, dropping his voice. "You don't want nosy people to overhear such private things and put in a bad paper."

"So I can ask daddy that when we're all alone and he's showing me pictures of mama?"

"That's right."

"Oooh, I see! Why didn't Miss Kumi say that to us?"

"I don't know," Hiro said. "But let's not talk about that, okay?"

"Okay!"

Ryuichi peered up at the two of them from underneath his arms. Hikari leaned over the table and rubbed her hands through his hair, making the singer laugh and sit up and mess her hair up. Hiro smiled, keeping an eye on the little girl in case she slipped off her seat, but he didn't need to worry as Emi appeared and scolded them. Once Hikari and Ryuichi were settled in their spots, Yuudai and Emi came out with bowls and small square plates of food. Hiro blinked at the amount of food they were given, but Ryuichi and Hikari didn't seem to think it was too much.

Picking up his chopsticks, Ryuichi clapped his hands together before tugging the paper off of them and picking up a rice ball. Clumsily, Hikari copied him and Hiro followed suit. Ryuichi started asking Hikari questions about her school and her friends in between bites, while Hiro ate silently, watching the two interact. It was cute, but he wondered where the girl's mother was and if Ryuichi had loved her. It was clear that he loved his daughter, and yet he didn't claim her - well, he didn't claim her to the public. For some reason this neighborhood seemed to accept him as one of theirs and did not announce the fact that the star stayed there.

More questions. It seemed that Ryuichi enjoyed making them in his head and not answer any of them. Hiro finished his meal and set his chopsticks down, smiling as father and daughter fought over the last rice ball. Maybe the next time he got to talk to Ryuichi alone, he was going to get some answers. But for now, he was going to enjoy this quiet time before things got hectic again.


	6. six

**Author's notes:** Here's a change of pace - Hiro and hte rest of Bad Luck working on their music. But don't worry, the questions and general strangeness between Hiro and Ryuichi is still present.

* * *

**:::six:::**

Ryuichi didn't return with him to the hotel room, nor did he show up later on. Hiro spent half the night waiting, smoking through half a pack before giving up and going to bed. When he got up, Ryuichi's guitar case was gone and the clothes he had on yesterday were tossed carelessly over the back of a chair. Hiro frowned at the crumpled shirt and wrinkled jeans, and grumbled his way through his morning routine. He had wanted to talk but the singer avoided it masterfully.

He was still grumbling a little when he finally made it to the studio, where Shuichi pounced on him and dragged him over to Suguru, who looked as tired as Hiro felt. Raising both eyebrows, Hiro glanced at Shuichi, saw the worry and sighed to himself. With everything that was happening in his own life, he hadn't been paying attention to his friends.

"You know you two do not have to hover over me every day," Suguru snapped and crossed his arms over his chest. "I can take care of myself."

Hiro scratched the back of his neck and smiled. Well, it looked like he had to be direct to figure out what was wrong with the keyboardist. "Hey, we're only worried about you. You look like you were up all night."

Suguru just eyed him while Shuichi tugged on Hiro's arm but showed masterful restraint by not talking right away. "I am not the only person who looks like he was up all night."

Hiro frowned back. "I've been rooming with Sakuma-san. What's your excuse, Suguru?"

"Still?! But I thought that Sakuma-san was staying with the rest of Grasper!" Shuichi said, tugging harder on his sleeve. "What's it like? Is he coloring the walls?"

"He's Sakuma-san," Hiro replied, not taking his eyes off of Suguru. "Well, Suguru?"

The younger man huffed and muttered something under his breath, looking down at his synthesizer and fiddling with the buttons on his jacket. Hiro sighed and leaned forward a little. "C'mon, we can't work together if there's a big problem bothering you, right? And we all would like to show the old-timers that we can match them beat for beat."

"There's this girl. . ." Suguru said softly, not looking up. Pink stained his cheeks as he cleared his throat and tapped out a rhythm on the keyboard. "And we went to a karaoke bar. . ."

"You're dating someone?! How come you didn't tell me?! Huh? Huh?"

Shuichi exploded from Hiro's side, leaping over the keyboard to grab Suguru into a hug. The keyboardist screamed and wiggled free, holding the singer off with one hand while trying to steady his synthesizer set-up with his other hand. Hiro shook his head and grabbed at the synthesizer too, making sure that the expensive piece of equipment didn't get turned into scrap plastics and wires.

"I am not dating anyone! Get off of me! Shuichi, we need to finish the last two songs today!"

"Is she cute? Sweet? Did you meet because of your uncle or was it love at first sight? You can tell me!"

There was a soft click, and having grown use to the sound, Hiro instinctively ducked. His other two bandmates didn't notice the sound and were caught flatfooted as the room was peppered with bullets. Looking up from his prone position, Hiro watched their manager blow on the barrel of his gun and holster it.

"All right, everyone, listen up!" K said, hands on his hips. "When we are here, we are to talk about music first! Save the gossip for your breaks!"

"But. . ."

"There are no 'buts' in here!"

Hiro rubbed his ear and went over to his guitar stand. It sounded like K was in top form today and he did not want to get shot at again. Not that the American would actually injure them, but they always ended up paying for the damages he did to the studios. That was one of the things Hiro never understood about K's contract. Shouldn't K be the one paying for the damages?

"You heard K-san," Suguru said, tugging free of Shuichi's grip and straightening his collar. "Let us get to work and then I shall tell you."

"Fine! But you are getting the third degree when we're done!"

Shuichi stomped over to the mic stand and glared at it. Hiro released his breath and checked to make sure his guitar was in tune. It helped in focusing on music instead of thinking of his own questions concerning a certain singer. Although, the way K kept on looking at him made Hiro wonder who knew about Ryuichi's hidden sides. Would his former manager know? After all, he left for America a year after Hikari was born, right? How did someone so famous keep something that big from the news?

They attacked the music under K's watchful eyes, first playing the set they had already made and then expanding with their new set. Suguru had a couple new mixes to try and so they went over that as well. Shuichi had a new tangent with lyrics that they had to spend an hour on, and then - the memory of Ryuichi attacking his guitar strings in the hotel room fresh in his mind - Hiro switched to his Hellraiser to give the remix an extra edge. A few more tweaks, and suddenly they had a sound that would work in front of an international crowd - or so K said.

All Hiro knew was that he was tired, and not just from reworking music in his head. Even Shuichi wasn't so bouncy, his hair a sweaty mop around his face. Suguru also look beyond beat, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced and his hands shaking. K took one look at them and snorted, shaking his head slowly.

"I guess you want to go on a break," he said and then made shooing motions. "Get back here in a half hour to finish!"

"Really?"

His gun was out and pointed at Shuichi's nose. "Did I stutter?"

"Okay! Okay!" Shuichi flailed and fell back on to Suguru, who rolled his eyes and pushed the singer back to his feet. "Hey guys, let's get something from the cafe!"

"No can do," K said in English. "Hiro has other plans."

The three of them stopped moving. Hiro sucked in his breath, setting his guitar down in its stand and looked over at the American. Sometimes, K would pull some weird stunt that would have the band member posing in ridiculous costumes or ending up on unrelated game shows or - in the case of one memorable time - have them sitting on top of a newsstand posing for a camera crew. But this time, there was no sign of K having anything like that in mind.

"Just Hiro?"

"It's nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about!"

"Huh? But why just Hiro?"

"It's fine, Shuichi," Hiro said, standing up and stretching. "I think I know what this is all about."

K looked at him, his blue eyes as direct as a bullet. Hiro matched his look, taking the length of his hair up into a knot and securing it at the back of his neck. The manager nodded once and then turned his attention to the other two members of Bad Luck. "Alright, make it an hour!"

"Well, if you're sure it'll be okay. . ." Shuichi said, looking from Hiro to K and back again. Whatever he saw on their faces seemed to calm him down enough to grab on to Suguru and drag him towards the door. "Then Suguru and I are gonna talk about our lovers while you're doing stuff without us!"

"What? Don't I get a say in this? Let go of me!"

With Suguru protesting wildly, Shuichi gave the two of them a wave and dragged the keyboardist out the door. Hiro stood where he was for a full minute, imagining the way the two would bicker and argue until they got to the elevators and then calm down enough to start rating their performances during their last recording session. Usually Hiro would be the quiet one during those discussions, standing in the back of the elevator watching the lights and letting them talk around him. He rarely said anything about it until they had calmed down enough to really listen. Sometimes it took a couple hours, and sometimes it took a few minutes, but once Shuichi and Suguru wound down, he would tell them what he thought and what sounded like needed fixing.

And then they would go back the next day to fix it. Strange, but ever since that day when Shuichi stepped on stage to hum his way past Ryuichi, they had started to act like a real band. It didn't mean they had grown out of the strange incidents that followed them like a plague. It just meant that they had finally become professionals. And yet. . .

"Did you see Ryuichi's movie?"

Hiro shook his head, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I wasn't in the mood for movies at the time, and after, I just sort of didn't feel like it."

"Romances are hard to watch if you're alone," K replied and checked his watch. Smiling, he threw open the door. "Okay! Let's go!"

"What's this about anyway?" Hiro asked, following the taller man.

"A little bird told me that Ryuichi took you to meet Hikari."

Hiro stopped and stared at K. "And you're going to tell me to be quiet about her?"

"Oh, no," the American said in English. Switching in Japanese, he added, "It makes me wonder what else you know about him."

"Nothing." Hiro grounded out the word between his teeth. He wanted to know more, of course, but so far he hadn't been given straight answers. He hadn't had the chance to ask the questions inside his head.

"Nothing? But you do want to know."

"I want to hear it from him, not hear it second hand."

K smiled, and led him into the elevator, hitting the button for the top floor. The Nittle Grasper floor, as the rest of the company liked to call it. Hiro and the rest of Bad Luck had been up there, usually led into Tohma's office and scolded over what new weird escapade they had somehow managed to get into. Hiro hadn't been to the rest of that floor, but he heard that there was several offices, a couple board rooms, and a studio reserved just for Grasper.

Hiro looked over to the blond, trying to figure out exactly what was going on in K's mind. But that was like trying to read a book that was translated from Finnish to Spanish to Japanese by a team of trained monkeys. All he knew was that K had something planned and that it had to do with Ryuichi.

The door slid open and K marched down the hall, whistling. Hiro followed, keeping an eye out for Tohma or Sakano. As usual, the hall was quiet with only a few people sitting at small desks answers phones and typing away on sleek computers. The doors to Tohma's office were open, but a glance inside told him that the boss was not in and that he hadn't been in for a while if judging by the amount of paperwork sitting on top of his desk. K continued past the last small office, through a set of double doors and down a hall that was dimly lit and sparsely decorated.

The hall ended in another set of doors. K took out a key and unlocked them, turning slightly and pressing his index finger against his lips. Hiro swallowed the question he wanted to say and quietly followed the American inside.

It was a studio almost like the one he had left a few minutes ago. They stepped into the control booth, where a cluster of debris laid - a compact and tube of lipstick, crumpled pocky boxes and a carton of strawberry milk, a black bowler hat sitting on top of a pink rabbit. The mixing board was lit up, a light blinking record dead center while other lights flickered and danced. Hiro looked through the large window into the recording room and saw Nittle Grasper.

This wasn't the band the public saw, standing on stage and decked out in brilliant stage clothing. They were sitting together on a long piano bench, Ryuichi and Noriko sharing a microphone while Tohma mouthed the words. Tohma was in his shirt sleeves, tendons standing out on his arms as he played the piano and swayed with the music, eyes half closed. Music was pumping from the speakers, a raw guitar track and layers of sound, the piano and the voices blending in with what they had already done.

A studio was like a musician's underpants each one different depending on who lived in it. While Bad Luck shared a studio with others and so had to keep it somewhat clean, Nittle Grasper didn't. Hiro tore his eyes away from the three musicians and looked at the studio, seeing personality everywhere. A computer screen flickered in its corner across from a baby grand piano, and there were wires and cords snaking over the floor plugged into a drum machine, several different synthesizers, and Ryuichi's guitar. There were water bottles and cans sitting open on speaker sets, an ashtray balancing on top of a stack of notebooks, and a suit jacket tossed over an upright bass. One wall had a low sofa shoved against it, the layers of blankets and pillows told him that it wasn't the first time they spent a night there.

K took a seat in one of the chairs after first moving an empty snack bag, and leaned back. Hiro looked at him for a moment and then cleaned off another chair and sat down as well. He watched them as they played and then sighed and leaned back.

"So, what are you trying to show me?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Hiro looked at Grasper, noticing that Ryuichi and Noriko had stopped singing. They were leaning against Tohma, arms wrapped over his shoulders and touching each other, the three of them linked in a way that looked more than just physical.

"That they're close?"

"They're family. Do you know what that means?"

"There are no secrets between them?"

"Exactly!"

Hiro sighed and rubbed his eyes. Inside the studio, Grasper had finished up the song and was talking, Ryuichi pulling away from the other two in order to fetch a notebook and the ashtray. Tohma frowned at it but he did nothing except to take the notebook and flip through the pages while Ryuichi lit up. Noriko stole the cigarette after he got one puff and took a drag.

"But just because there are no secrets does not mean they don't keep things from each other," K said. "They grew up together, they know each other inside and out, but they are not perfect and they do not react well when things change on them."

"I know that."

"But are you ready to let all three of them into your life?"

Inside the studio, Noriko and Ryuichi were engaged in a wrestling match over the cigarette. Tohma watched them with a bemused smile, the notebook open and resting on his lap. Hiro shook his head and stood up, heading for the door.

"You're not going to stay?"

Hiro shrugged. "I think I'll just get something to eat and get back to work. We can't slack off just because it's the last day of preparations."

"Suit yourself."

Hiro stepped outside and sighed, looking up at the ceiling. He wasn't sure why K had to point out something he had already guessed, but he understood the point. Getting involved in Ryuichi's life meant he would get involved with all of his sides from the old rocker that enjoyed strumming a guitar to the child-like star that tried making everyone smile to the superstar on stage. K was only trying to get him to back away before something really started between them. Unfortunately, Hiro knew it was too late.

Ryuichi had gotten too far under his skin for that.


	7. seven

**Author's Notes:** I am not using the words 'Na no da' in this fiction. Instead Ryuichi repeats himself in small ways to show off this nervous tick of his. 'Na no da' is just a sound, a way to epithize his childish nature and doesn't really have much of a meaning.

_

* * *

_

_:::seven:::_

After the press conference was aired, Tohma gathered the bands together and congratulated them on surviving the last three days. He then told them that they could go home and relax for a couple days before coming back there if they wished. Standing next to him, Shuichi all but took out a huge neon sign declaring his plans for the next two days. On his other side, Suguru sighed, his gaze moving from his cousin to the crowd of musicians, focusing on a large grouping of girls around his age. Hiro was watching the singer behind Tohma play with his pink rabbit, ignoring what was going on around him.

Tohma gave a few last instructions concerning the music they were working on and then dismissed the assembly of musicians. Some, like Hiro, lingered in the room, either not having any place to go or needing to finish a few more tweaks on their music. But then K showed up to escort them out of the building. With the doors shut tight against him, Hiro sighed, went to the hotel to grab his bags and headed for the train station.

He took a train to Tokyo and walked the rest of the way to his small apartment. He had planned to move into a bigger place, but that - like all his other plans involving a different life - fell apart and he didn't have enough in him to try again. He was really glad that both Shuichi and Suguru had found people they liked, and he was also glad that K had drag him away from them before they could start on his lack of a date. He knew they meant well, but he just did not want to be facing two people with bad cases of lovestruckitis they were itching to spread.

Besides, he had a mission. It had been a long time since he really felt motivated to do anything outside of work. But the games Ryuichi had been playing - if he was playing them - had made Hiro feel restless in his skin and he wanted to know more. It was like the first time he actually saw a guitar; the feeling, the hunger to figure out the mysteries and mold them into his hands. But this mystery he could not solve with a chord book, he needed other sources.

Hiro tossed his bag on to his futon and left his apartment, taking his bike and headed to the library. There he started digging in the public life of Ryuichi Sakuma. There was a lot of it. Pictures and reviews of the movie he made with Judy Winchester. Photos and reviews of the last Grasper recordings before his acting career started. Stuff about how Ryuichi was taking on America. Stuff showing a thinner, paler Ryuichi hiding behind Kumagoro talking about how Nittle Grasper was disbanding. Articles and pictures filled with the wedding of Tohma and Mika, Ryuichi a bright spot of auburn hair and a purple suit in the best man spot during the American-styled wedding. Articles about the band leaving for America for a break around the same time that Tohma took his future brother-in-law to the States to study. The articles started to space out before that, sometimes their names managing to skip a couple months before appearing again.

Then Hiro reached the bottom of the pile, finding an older newspaper clipping of the band, showing a bunch of young teens in school uniforms holding a banner between them. Ryuichi was in the center, his lopsided grin still recognizable even though his very long hair had made Hiro look twice. Tohma had black hair and it was spiked, but he still had the same blank grin and bowler hat. As for Noriko, the only difference was how more curvy she was now then she was back then.

Hiro leaned back and rubbed his eyes. There was a lot of stuff to shift through and none of it helped giving him a sense of the person behind the fame. Collecting copies of those articles he wanted to study, Hiro left and went to a nearby cafe to eat. He munched through a tasteless sandwich and fries, thinking about what to do next. The articles were interesting - and here he flipped through them, seeing if anything jumped out at him - but they didn't hold all the answers. There was little in them that did make sense to his tired mind.

Folding up the articles, he left the cafe and went back home. With every bone in his body throbbing dully, Hiro intended to just take a shower and go to bed. But as he reached his door, it swung open and the person he had spent the past three hours researching was standing in the doorway, looking down at him.

Hiro walked up the last steps and came to a stop before the singer. Ryuichi raised his head and then broke out into a large grin, bopping him lightly on the nose with Kumagoro. "I knocked but the door opened so I came in!"

"I thought I locked it," Hiro said, waving away the pink plushy. Ryuichi shook his head hard, and wrapped his arms around Kumagoro, hugging the toy to his body. Hiro stared at him for a moment or two and then sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"What do you want?"

"You're not mad at me, right?"

"Mad?"

Ryuichi nodded, looking over the top of his stuffed toy, blue eyes large and watery. Hiro bite his lip and shook his head. The watery eyes turned bright and shiny and before he could move out of the way, Hiro found himself getting glomped. He stumbled back, hitting the guard railing as the singer squeezed him tightly, and then shoved Kumagoro into his face.

"We were really worried that you were!"

Hiro just stared at the pink bunny. The black glass eyes stared back. He freed an arm and patted the toy on top of its head, trying to look around the pink fuzz to get a better glimpse of what the singer's expression was. He couldn't so Hiro just decided to talk to the rabbit, even if it felt a little weird.

"I'm just tired."

"Oh! We know what tired is like, don't we, Kumagoro?" The rabbit was pulled away as Ryuichi turned the rabbit towards him for a talk. "That's when our head gets really weird and our eyes get all fuzzy."

Kumagoro nodded and Hiro rubbed his forehead, just wanting to sit down and get a few moments of rest before he actually had to deal with anything, especially a singer that seemed determined to drive him nuts. Luckily for his last nerve, Ryuichi noticed the slight grimace and bounced out of the doorway and latched on to his arm before dragging him inside.

Hiro didn't get a chance to take off his shoes as Ryuichi continued to drag him over to his futon and pushed him down. Shoving Kumagoro into his hands, the singer bounced over to Hiro's small kitchen and banged around for a few minutes before reappearing and holding a glass out to him. Hiro carefully set the rabbit down and took the glass, taking a sip of water.

"I wanted to stop and say hi but I can leave so you can take a nap," Ryuichi said, picking up the toy and chewing on its ear.

"Actually, I wanted to ask you something," Hiro said, setting the glass down. Ryuichi stopped chewing on Kumagoro's ear, his eyes the largest, bluest eyes Hiro had ever seen outside of a movie. Hiro almostr felt bad when he blurted out one of the many questions in his mind at that moment. "Who are you?"

Ryuichi's face screwed up and he started laughing. "Hiro is so funny when he is sleepy, he is!"

Despite the annoying childish laughter, Hiro found himself smiling back. "I guess I am."

His laughter died down and the singer put Kumagoro down on the low table next to his glass of water. He leaned forward and brushed his fingers along Hiro's cheek.

"You know that thing I told you about me acting too American around you?"

Hiro blinked, not too sure if he should pull away or lean against that moth-like touch. "I remember."

"It also goes for when I act too much like a little kid," Ryuichi said. "If it bothers you too much, just tell me."

"Why?"

Ryuichi leaned back on his hands, a gentle lopsided grin on his face. Hiro wasn't too tired to not appreciate the way he looked all stretched out on his floor, relaxed and comfortable and real. It struck him that was how he often seen Ryuichi - not the strung out rock god, but this quiet, relaxed man with a lopsided grin and gentle humor.

"I guess I'm not good at reading nice guys," Ryuichi said, winking. "Or maybe I'm just trying to seduce you by being extra nice."

Hiro shook his head, laughing a little. "Does it always have to be a joke about sex with you?"

"Well, it does get you to smile."

"Yeah. . . I guess it does."

They shared a smile and Ryuichi stretched out, falling back and his arms raised over his head. His shirt rode up, showing a strip of skin above the low cut of his jeans and the definition of his stomach and hips. Hiro looked away, and picked up the glass of water and took a sip.

"I could fall asleep right here."

Hiro looked over at Ryuichi. The singer had tucked his hands behind his head but otherwise was in the same prone position, his messy bangs covering his eyes. Ryuichi laughed and his eyes drifted close.

"Used to be I could go for days with only a brief nap," he said, yawning. "From studio to press to photo shoots to stage to parties and back again. Days and days. . . then maybe I'll remember to sleep when Tohma pushed me into a couch."

"You can crash here if you want."

Ryuichi cracked open his eyes and sat up, rubbing at the back of his head. "I really shouldn't. Tohma would have a fit and then Noriko would chew my ass."

"How did you get here?"

"I drove."

Hiro blinked. Ryuichi saw the look that crossed his face and giggled. The singer yawned and climbed to his feet, stretching out. Even Hiro could hear the popping sound his back made when he twisted to the side. Ryuichi made a face and rubbed his side.

"Man, I _am_ getting old. . . But really, I have to go."

"Are you sure you can drive?" Hiro asked, getting up as well. Ryuichi waved off his concern with a gentle grin and picked up Kumagoro.

"Get some sleep, Hiro. And don't worry; it's nothing to drive sleepy-sleepy."

Hiro made a face and Ryuichi laughed, bouncing out the door. Hiro followed him to the door and watched as the singer jumped down the steps and got into a dark blue car. He drove off without incident and Hiro sighed and went to take a nap. Maybe things would make much more sense after he got some rest.


	8. eight

**author's notes: **So here we have a little extra happening to the story and a new element added. I'm thinking soon there will be a few questions answered and we will see exactly what is going on inside of Ryuichi's mind. Well, maybe. And the last bit of this chapter gave me problems and I borrowed heavily from the live performances of the J-Rock band **SCARECROW**, especially the song _Reirow_. It is a lovely song and can be found on Youtube. Go look now.

* * *

_**:: eight ::**_

They were back to work next week. Even if they were finished making songs for the stage show, they still had to practice them and make sure the stage was set up right. Since Bad Luck was sharing with thirty-nine other bands, the stage sets had to flow smoothly from one group to another to give the stage crew just as much ease as the bands themselves. At least they were one of the last bands to play, with the final being Nittle Grasper.

Hiro straddled a chair in the open field in front of the stage, chewing on the end of a green tea pocky stick while Shuichi dozed against his shoulder and Suguru fought with a handful of loose papers. They - along with several other bands - were waiting their turn for the stage in the first of many sound checks and rehearsals. Once the initial sound check was established they could go back to the N-G Building and practice inside one of the many practice rooms until the songs were committed to memory. Once that was done, they would have two more weeks to perfect their performances while on stage.

"Yuki. . ." Shuichi muttered and his hands started wandering. Hiro bit a piece of pocky off and elbowed the singer in his ribs. He snorted, stirred and fell back asleep.

"I give up," Suguru muttered and shoved the papers into a folder. "I can't concentrate like this and he's not helping."

Hiro shifted, pressing his right hand against Shuichi's forehead to keep him from falling flat on his face. "I guess he must have stayed up too much over the break."

"I'm not talking about that!" Suguru made a face and held up his folder as evidence. "I'm talking about the changes he made to his lyrics! Did you know he completely re-wrote _'Gimme Gimme Get'_?"

Hiro blinked and looked over at Suguru. ". . .How bad is it?"

"You haven't looked?"

"I've been preoccupied," Hiro replied, shaking Shuichi in a vain attempt to wake him up. Shuichi continued snoring, a bubble popping out of the corner of his mouth.

"Oh," Suguru said, eyeing the sleeping singer. Shuichi muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'bran muffin chocolate puffs covering Yuki' and attempted tugging Hiro's shirt off. "Can't you wake him up?"

"I'll need all the power of Yuki Eiri to do that."

"Maybe K can get him up," Suguru said, looking around for their manager. "If we can find K."

"He's probably with the rest of the managers and producers back stage," Hiro replied with a final crunch of pocky. He sighed and covered his eyes with one hand. "Who would have thought that this part would be so boring?"

"You know what they say - nine parts boredom followed by one part sweat."

Hiro laughed and elbowed Shuichi again, getting a grunted 'huh?' for his efforts. "Don't you mean ninety-nine point nine percent perspiration followed by point one percent sheer terror?"

Suguru grinned, opened his mouth and froze. Following his gaze, Hiro saw a small cluster of girls enter the open arena, all of them dressed in casual sundresses, shorts and brightly colored shirts. Since he hadn't been with them since their last recording session, he wasn't sure which one had caught Suguru's eyes, but he was sure he had it bad. Already Suguru's cheeks were flushing with color.

Hiro wasn't going to let this opportunity pass. He pushed Shuichi off his chair, letting the singer land with a loud shout and clambered to his feet with a few choice words. Hiro raised his eyebrow and ever so subtly tilted his head in the direction of the girl band. Shuichi blinked, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and grinned.

"Hey Suguru! Why don't you introduce us to your girlfriend?"

The teen jumped, flailed and fell over. Shuichi put his hands on his hips and leaned down over him. "C'mon buddy! Stop holding out on us! Everyone has met my guy so it's time we've met your girl."

"Shuichi! She's not my girlfriend," Suguru said, clutching at his chest. "She's just a girl I went out with a couple times."

"Isn't he cute, Hiro?" Shuichi leaned against the guitarist, grinning from ear-to-ear. "I've always thought he was crushing hard on K, but instead he's got a girl that is just a friend." He pointed at Suguru. "Introductions now before you two get married."

"Can't you talk reason to him?" Suguru asked, turning to Hiro.

Taking out a new piece of pocky, Hiro slowly shook his head. "I'm not getting involved."

"That's because Hiro knows I will set him up on a blind date with my cousin!" Shuichi said, and started laughing. Hiro eyed his best friend and leaned away from him. He was definitely not going to get involved in this discussion now.

"Fine, but we are not dating."

Shuichi did a victory dance before pulling Suguru to his feet. Hiro got up and followed them slowly, hands in his pockets and pocky sticking out of his mouth like a cigarette. While he wasn't as curious as Shuichi, he thought it would be nice to meet this girlfriend and maybe see if any of her friends were interested in something casual. It had been a long time since he had been dating Ayaka and maybe he just needed to date a little to get over what had happened.

The girls were cute in their shy flirting glances and soft giggles. Hiro stood behind the other two members of Bad Luck and chewed on his snack, only smiling occasional at a loud comment from Shuichi. Suguru's friend was a tiny teen with large dark brown eyes and curly hair cut in a stylish bob, a simple sundress complimenting her creamy skin. He introduced her as Sayuri-chan, which got him some good humored teasing from Shuichi and Sayuri's friends. They were having fun and laughing but Hiro felt a little apart from it all - maybe he was becoming the old man of Bad Luck. Or maybe he was still trying to figure out what had happened in his own life. He had thought things were pretty settled, and yet, here he was, unattached.

But it was in the middle of that detachment that he was the first to realize that Grasper had entered the field. Noriko led the way, bangles and barrettes catching the sunlight, and wearing tiny shorts and tank top that showed off her generous curves. Walking behind her with a cellphone attached to his ear was Tohma, looking like a wandering teen in rolled up jeans and a striped shirt, a baseball hat smashed down over his head. And then there was Ryuichi, in torn jeans and a faded tee-shirt, his hair pulled back into a messy pony tail and a scuffed up guitar case in his hand. He watched them as they fell into step, Tohma and Ryuichi flanking Noriko as she linked arms with them, the three walking the last few feet to the stage like royalty.

Everyone fell silent, even Shuichi, as the stars drew close. Hiro noted the way they smiled, almost as if they were struggling with the attention from the younger musicians. He glanced over at Shuichi, who was glancing at him, and shook his head at the unasked question in his friend's eyes. Noriko pulled free of the other two Graspers' arms and stepped up to the stage, Tohma following her as he closed his cellphone cutting off the voice on the other end. Ryuichi paused at the foot of the stairs, his smile widening.

"You guys don't mind if we cut, right?" he asked. Not getting a response he laughed and swarmed up the stage, calling out in English to the other two Graspers. The three went into a huddle in the center of the stage.

"What's wrong with them?" Shuichi asked softly, glancing up at Hiro. "They seem mad about something."

"I don't know," Hiro replied, frowning as Ryuichi took out his guitar and slung the strap over his shoulder. Tohma helped him with adjusting his pick-up and then double-checked his tuning while Noriko picked up a pair of drumsticks.

"Do you think someone on the other end of this concert said something against them?" Suguru asked, joining into their conversation.

"But they're Nittle Grasper," Sayuri said, tugging on Suguru's sleeve. "Why would anyone go against them?"

"They're Japanese," Hiro replied, surprising even himself. He rubbed his forehead at the stares he was getting. "Ryuichi took the world by storm because he's so versatile but the rest of us aren't. I bet that half the world's community thinks we're not worth a listen to."

Up on stage, Tohma had picked up someone's bass guitar and Ryuichi helped him adjust the strap so it wasn't knocking against his knees. Noriko kicked off her heels and settled behind a drum kit tapping her sticks together.

". . .They can play other instruments?"

Hiro glanced down at Shuichi and shrugged. Suguru snorted, crossing his arms across his chest. "Of course they can; they're Nittle Grasper."

Any reply to that was lost in the wall of sound from the stage. Unplugged, Ryuichi's guitar had a sweet voice with just a hint of a growl. Plugged in, it had a snarl to its voice, an undertone that could be turned light and airy or dark and destructive. Tendons stood out in his hands as he played, wringing out sounds that Hiro could only blink at. With Tohma and Noriko joining in, the music was like the way he imagined a fire would taste like - raw and powerful and leaving flames inside the lungs. Next to him, Sayuri opened up her cellphone and held it pointed at the stage. Suguru reached over to close it, but a sharp 'Let her' stopped him.

The managers had arrived. With them were also members of the Grasper family - Mika carrying her son, Tatsuha and Eiri glowering at the stage, little Saki and Riku clinging to them, and Emi holding hands with Hakari. For once Sakano was not running around yelling and K was not threatening to shoot someone. They stood at the front of the small group, sharing a frown and watching the stage.

Hiro looked over the group and looked down at Shuichi. The singer frowned, looking up and actually ignoring the sight of his lover only three feet away. Something big had happened, and it had shaken the ground under their feet. Something had hit Grasper and left marks, and now they were on the stage, pounding out a rage in the snarl of instruments.

Phrases of songs came and went as the guitar and bass whipping around the pounding drums. Here an American hit, there a German phrase, and it was hard to tell which one of them was leading the changes. Ten minutes, twenty minutes, the Graspers continued playing; sweat matting their hair against their faces, their clothing sticking to their skin, and lips parting for breath.

"Boss! We've got reporters!"

Hiro wasn't the only unwitting audience member that jumped at K's yell. The music came to a crashing halt and Tohma rushed to the edge of the stage, motioning towards the backstage area. There was a moment of shuffling behind him, and then Mika headed up the stairs, carrying her boy and hold Riku's hand. The other children trooped past as well, Emi herding them after Mika. The Uesugi brothers pushed in front of the small crowd and turned to glower at the rest of them.

"You people are going to get trampled," Eiri said and lit up.

It shook the shock off the rest of them. Sayuki and her bandmates hurried backstage after Mika, and Suguru started following them but - glancing over at his cousin - made a face and walked over to the one set of stairs and sat down. Hiro glanced over at K before heading for the other staircase and taking a seat there. With the managers guarding the front of the stage with Eiri, Tatsuha and Shuichi, and the rest of Bad Luck sitting on the stairs, they hoped the reporters wouldn't stampede the stage.

A few minutes later, the first news van showed up and discharge reporters. They swarmed through the temporary seating like waves, only stopping to avoid getting shot. K rested an assault rifle on his hip and grinned wide, while beside him Eiri blew smoke. On stage, Nittle Grasper didn't react at all to the new audience. All three were drinking water, each one firmly attached to their chosen instruments and each one looking hot and irritable. The reporters milled about for a moment or two and then started firing questions at the Graspers, the canopy of babble not making any sense to Hiro but a few words caught his attention. Underage lover. Drugs. Illegitimate child. He bit his lip and tried not to look at Ryuichi.

A low hum drifted over the stage cutting under the shouting press. Hiro straightened and glanced over his shoulder at the stage, blinking at the sight of Tohma bent over a keyboard, the bass guitar resting on his hip. After a minute, Ryuichi strummed a few notes on his guitar and adjusted a knob, the last notes echoing through the amps. Noriko raised her drumsticks, tapping out a beat and Tohma stepped away from the keyboard, swinging his bass around. Then Ryuichi sang - his voice, his guitar and Noriko's drumsticks the only sound.

The reporters were struck dumb, those with cameras pointing them at the stage while others just openly stared. Ryuichi finished a phrase, his voice stretching out, a raw note hanging in the air echoed by his guitar and then sound descended as Tohma and Noriko fully joined the song. Ryuichi's voice rode the wave of sound - deep, full and raw, while the instruments complimented it.

But it wasn't the surprising power of the song that brought out a few gasps. As everyone knew, Tohma never sang for Grasper. Yet he joined Ryuichi on the chorus, his voice light and blending perfectly with the singer's. Then they went into the third verse. An explosion of drumming following a snarl of guitar playing, and the two were suddenly side by side, sharing the same microphone and the same words until Ryuichi pulled up and overpowered Tohma, hanging over the instruments for a few lone seconds. Another verse and then he left the microphone, leaning back and letting the guitar take over until ending the song with a single hanging note.

Everyone was silent, from the reporters to the bystanders. The only sound was the clatter of drumsticks against a drum as Noriko set them down, got up and stretched. She walked over to where Tohma and Ryuichi were standing, flanking Ryuichi and placing her hand on his shoulder. Ryuichi looked over the crowd of reporters, his eyes narrowed and hard, and leaned into the microphone again.

"Grasper will make a statement at this time and will not take any questions."


	9. nine

Author's notes: Here we go, the next chapter. And while I was going to do something different here, the story wrote itself this way so I am going to keep it this way.

* * *

_**:::nine:::**_

The crowd was silent. Reporters held pens over their notepads as microphones were raised to catch every single word. Ryuichi looked over at Tohma, took a deep breath and said, "First, I'd like to say that we've found the reaction towards this morning's news conference unprofessional even by press standards. There was no follow-up and hardly any research into that person's statement before the press started hounding our friends and families for the truth."

Hiro shifted in his seat, looking over the assembled reporters. Some were turning red and others were shuffling their feet. It was funny really, exactly how much power Ryuichi had over even the press – even Tohma would not have made them look so ashamed. It probably had to do with who he was. Ryuichi rarely gave interviews that were not him talking through Kumagoro, or him being the sex god.

"As for the accusations brought up, they are mostly false. I did know of Daichi Kumori – she was a mental health patient around the same time I had been admitted. Not for drugs, as she has told you, but for sever anemia brought on by over-work and not eating properly. The closest I get to any drug is chocolate and even then it's regulated so I don't get too hyper and lead a Kumagoro revolt against the icons of Uncoolness or something."

He smiled slightly, getting a few nervous laughs. Tohma looked over the crowd, his eyes sliding closed and his mouth gently smiling, and rested his hand on Ryuichi's other shoulder. The singer took a deep breath and rubbed his neck.

"She had been trying to lay any numbers of claims against me from stealing her panties to being her father ever since, but usually the N-G lawyers manage to catch her at her tales before they get too big. But I guess she must have gotten tired of that route and went directly to the press which has now brought us to this point. I don't like doing this. I don't like talking about private stuff because music isn't supposed to be about what I like and don't like. It's supposed to be about the music and everything it can say. But I guess that sometimes I just have to say a few things when stuff like this happens."

Ryuichi took another breath, and Hiro suddenly realized why he didn't like talking to the press. It had less to do with the music and more to do with the way he leaned into the support of the other two Graspers, the way he looked down at his guitar only to glance up. As playful and normal he could be, getting stuck under the eyes of the press made him uncomfortable.

"She was never my lover. She is a delusional person who cannot accept the reality of not being my lover. I do have a child but that child is not going to be made public until the time is right. I do not do drugs, and I was never placed in a program to clean up my act. I don't have any act to clean up unless it's to have an extra set of pants when I get too hot on stage. And that's all. So can you guys just go and tell everyone it's a mistake? I'd really like to get back to working on our concert for the end of this month."

He backed away from the microphone, ducking a little and pressing up against Noriko. Tohma stepped forward, standing in front of Ryuichi and still smiling that same pleasant smile that destroyed more than one career over his lifetime.

"Thank you for listening. N-G Productions will answer any questions later this day, but for now, we request that the press will vacate and let us work in peace."

The press stood around for a few moments, a few looking as if they were going to ignore Grasper's requests. But then K jumped onto the stage, his assault rifle resting on his hip like he had forgotten it was there, and a broad grin on his face. Hiro could almost see the thoughts on the minds of the press, most of them having one time or another faced off against the American and his guns. It only took a few minutes for the press to leave, mostly because they had to avoid running into equipment vans and clueless bands arriving for they sound tests.

Nittle Grasper waited until the last of the reporters were specks of dust before collapsing into a tangle in the center of the stage. Puffing smoke, Eiri climbed up the stairs past Hiro, Shuichi a burr clinging to his side. Hiro got up and followed them, noticing that Tatsuha was hanging back and taking pictures.

"Are you satisfied?" Eiri said, tapping his foot against Ryuichi's leg.

"Not until you kiss me," Ryuichi replied, his mouth twisting. "Wake me up from this nightmare, Tohma!"

"I am not kissing you. You should ask Kumagoro to kiss you."

"But he hasn't shaved!"

"Silly Ryu! Kumagoro is not real!"

"Don't listen to her!" Ryuichi clamped his hands over the stuffed rabbit's ears, curling a little over the rabbit and pulling away from the other two Graspers. Noriko sighed and smacked Ryuichi on the arm.

"Won't someone kiss me?"

Eiri turned on his brother before he could jump at the chance, and surprisingly Tatsuha stopped in mid-jump and cleared his throat. Hiro blinked at the rare act and looked over at Shuichi, who was looking at Tatsuha like he expected the man to break out in hives next. Ryuichi was watching Tatsuha too, and Hiro could have sworn he went and winked at the monk before falling back and resting his hands on Tohma's shoulders.

"You do realize the reporters will sell that single," Eiri said, still smoking. Tohma just shrugged, leaning back against Ryuichi and Noriko. Eiri frowned and nudge Tohma with his foot. "Do you?"

"We've got it covered," Ryuichi said, sitting up and draping his arms over his knees. "In fact –"

He went silent, mouth half open and his face growing white. The other two Graspers looked up at their singer, Noriko reaching out to touch his shoulder. Ryuichi ignored her, jumping to his feet, anger etching harsh lines in his face and making the veins in his neck throb. Hiro took a step back and almost tripped over someone's feet.

"Excuse me," he said, stepping back and looking up. Then Hiro froze too, just like the rest of those on the stage, confusion giving way to a numb sort of understanding. This guy – in his well-pressed suit and graying hair – could have been Ryuichi in another life.

"It is fine," the middle-aged man said, bowing slightly. Hiro shook himself out of the shook, hearing the difference in voice and seeing the differences in eyes and hair cut. Heavier too, and wearing a suit. This was no look-a-like, not the way Shuichi had been at first.

"Get the hell out!" Ryuichi clenched his hands, Tohma's hand on his shoulder the only thing holding him place. "What the fuck are you doing here? I don't want you here!"

"Ryuichi behave." The businessman glanced over at Tohma. "Is this how you feel he should act like?"

"He acts the way he wishes," Tohma replied, a frown appearing. "I do not think that he should be controlled like a pet."

"Is that why you are preventing him from hitting me?"

Tohma started, glancing over at the singer. Then an easy bland smile fell across his face and he let go of Ryuichi's shoulder. The singer took a step forward, the knuckles of his hands white and his eyes a dark muddy blue. Hiro sucked in his breath, expecting to see another explosion but Ryuichi closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Visibly, slowly, he forced the anger out - unclenching his hands, rolling his shoulders back, and then swung his guitar off his shoulders.

"Why are you acting this way anyways? It's been years, man. I've proven that my crap idea was worth it."

"It is not that."

"Then what? You worried or something? I don't even know why, half the people here don't even know who you are." Ryuichi smiled, nodding to himself even as he ran the pads of his fingers over the guitar strings. "Some days I don't know who you are, and that says a lot."

"Ryuichi. . ."

"Go home, Father." The lines were back, etching paths at the corner of his mouth and deep between his eyes. "Just. . . I can't deal with your shit on top of everyone else's. Go home and I'll talk to you about it when half of Japan is not standing around."

Ryuichi's father? Hiro just blinked, looking from one man to the other. Despite the same general body shape and features, they could be two strangers for the amount of loyalty they showed each other. A few moments passed then the older Sakuma bowed, turned and left. Ryuichi's mouth twisted and he looked at the guitar in his hands. For a second it looked like he was going to smash it against the ground but he laughed – high pitched and broken – and laid it down in its case.

At that sound, the whole stage seemed to bounce back to normal. Shuichi clung to Eiri, babbling about how tense that was, Tatsuha trying and failing to get close to Ryuichi, Tohma and Noriko putting back to rights the instruments they were using. Yet Hiro felt like he wasn't a part of it, as if that part of the world was just outside his reach, like a vision or a dream. A crescendo of sound, babbling outside of his hearing, the press of bodies as others appeared and went, and then he was squatting next to Ryuichi, watching the singer as his fingers stroke the strings of his apple-green guitar.

"I really don't remember why we fight any more," he said softly.

Hiro didn't say anything. Ryuichi glanced over at him, looking tired and worn.

"I think we destroyed any chance for any rehearsal today."

"Do you want to go home?" The words came out before Hiro registered that he said them. He bit his lower lip and rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean. . ."

"I know." Ryuichi closed and latched his guitar case, standing up and swinging it over his shoulder. He tilted his head to the side, looking down at Hiro and then turned on his heel. A few strides and he was standing next to Emi and Hikari, bending down and saying something to his daughter. He hugged both of them and moved on, only the top of his guitar case telling Hiro where the singer was heading to next.

"Nakano-san."

Hiro jumped, looking away from the bobbing guitar case and up at his boss. Tohma's hair was drying in soft spikes around his face, circles apparent under his eyes. He looked down at Hiro and then held something out to him. It took him a moment to realize that Tohma was holding out a set of car keys.

"Make sure Ryuichi gets home safely."

"But. . ." Hiro said, biting his lip at the look in Tohma's eyes. He took the keys. "I'll do my best."

Tohma smiled and walked away, joining the small crowd around Mika and their toddler. Hiro looked at the car keys and shrugged, got up and made his way over to where he last seen the guitar case. He soon found Ryuichi sitting on the edge of the stage, drumming his feet against the bare wood.

"You ever wonder what would happen if you listened to your parents?"

"I would be sitting in school, studying until I have facts crawling out of my ears," Hiro replied, sitting next to him.

Ryuichi snorted, looking over at him. "So why are you following me now?"

"Seguchi-san told me to drive you home."

"Seriously?"

For an answer, Hiro held out the car keys. Ryuichi chuckled, taking them from him.

"And you didn't tell him you don't drive."

"I have a motorcycle. Maybe he thought it was the same."

Ryuichi shook his head, looking over his shoulder. He smiled and slid off the stage, looking up at Hiro and motioning him to follow. Hiro knew this was going to be a bad idea but Tohma did want him to make sure Ryuichi got home safely. He just didn't want to hear that Hiro only had a license for a motorcycle, not a car. But as he slid off the stage and followed Ryuichi, he just really did not care.


	10. ten

**Author's notes:** Thank you everyone who has reviewed. I'm glad that you're enjoying this story as much as I am enjoying writing it. The whole idea came from watching videos on Youtube of a certain Japanese rock band and pondering what if a singer and a guitar player liked each other. With an added marathon of Gravitation, what turned out was this fiction idea. In this things will start heating up a little between the two and we have an answer from Ryuichi at last. Enjoy~

* * *

**::: ten :::**

Ryuichi drove the way he sang – intense, fast and with a touch of aggression. Hiro pressed back into the passenger's side, glancing once and a while at Ryuichi's face and hands before looking ahead again and trying not to flinch as he made tight swerves and sharp corners. Unrolling his window, Ryuichi rested his elbow on the window's edge, his right hand completely in control of the wheel.

"One thing I like about America is that there's room to just go," the singer said, stopping at a red light and tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. "Outside of L.A. there are just miles and miles of desert. Sometimes other people are driving on it, other times no one is there but maybe a camera crew and then there at times when you've got it all to yourself."

"Do you like America better than Japan?"

Ryuichi laughed, flicking the fingers of his left hand before rapping them against the side of his door. "Different cultures. Different worlds. Japan is my home, but America is my dreams."

"Oh." Hiro looked away, watching every day people walk along the sidewalks, every once and a while a bright splash of color marking the warmer summer days – a floral sundress, bright red skinny jeans, powder blue hair, neon green shoes. He glanced back at Ryuichi and caught the singer looking at him. Ryuichi smiled, and took out a pack of cigarettes with his free hand. A gaggle of giggling school girls went past, drawing Hiro's attention away.

"So what exactly did Tohma tell you?"

Hiro looked back at Ryuichi, the singer blowing out a thin stream of smoke. The burnt scent of tobacco mingled with the sharp scent of the car, the haze of car exhaust and Ryuichi's sweat. Hiro swallowed and looked away.

"He said to make sure you got home safely."

"And he didn't tell you where my home was and didn't want you to deny his request, right?

"Not really," Hiro said, looking at the singer. "I'm worried."

"Is that right?"

Hiro ignored the hard edge in his voice, reading something in the tightness around his eyes. "I don't want to see you get hurt more today."

Ryuichi snorted and took a hard left, causing the car behind them to slam on the brakes to avoid rear-ending them. Hiro closed his eyes and vowed to not make fun of how K drove ever again. After a few minutes, Hiro opened his eyes, glancing over at Ryuichi. The singer looked like he was miles away, blue eyes distant and his cigarette held loosely in his left hand. Deciding not to disturb him, Hiro went back to watching the scenery pass by.

They went from the shopping areas, moving through sleepy residential buildings and family shops, weaving around with a randomness that might have been subconscious on Ryuichi's part. Despite some of his more aggressive actions, the singer was a good driver, and Hiro found himself dozing a little against the window, barely registering the gradual decline of the state of the buildings around them. Then the buildings became modern again, and the car came to a stop, the sudden lack of the motor jolting Hiro awake.

He blinked and looked over at Ryuichi. The singer was leaning back against his door, a stub of a cigarette glowing then hissing out as he jabbed it into the ashtray. Hiro clawed at the door handle, almost falling out of the car and getting a soft chuckle from the older man.

"There's really no need for you to hurry. The building's not going anywhere."

Hiro shook his head and looked up. They were parked in front of a better class apartment building on a quiet street lined with half-hidden houses and other well-appointed buildings. The afternoon light filtered through the branches of several trees, lining the street with dappled shadows. Realizing where he was, Hiro breathed out a sigh of relief. A few blocks away, Shuichi shared an apartment with Eiri.

"Awake now?"

Hiro laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I am. Sorry about that."

"It's okay."

He looked over at Ryuichi, seeing a manic edge to the look on his face, and then looked away, not wanting to show that he had noticed. He was started to see a different edge to the similarities between the legend and his best friend. Shuichi's manic moods often ended in tears and he did not wish to see that in Ryuichi.

"I should go home."

Ryuichi tilted his head to the side and blinked. "Why?"

"You're home safe, so my job's done, right?" Hiro grinned back at the singer, but all Ryuichi did was frown.

"I'm not at my apartment yet."

Biting his lower lip, Hiro looked over at the building. "I suppose. . . but what kind of trouble could you get into riding an elevator?"

Ryuichi laughed, opened his car door and stepped out. "Lots and lots!"

Hiro followed him out of the car and waited while Ryuichi grabbed his guitar case and shut the door with his hip. He probably could have protested more but a part of him was interested to see exactly how Ryuichi lived when he wasn't on tour. Like with all the pieces he had been shown, he was certain that the reality was far more human than the fantasy. And since his fantasy had been peppered with a lot of stuffed toys and cotton-candy colors, Hiro really wanted to replace the ideas with first hand knowledge.

Ryuichi opened the door and let Hiro go inside in front of him and then led him to the elevator. Hitting the top button, Ryuichi leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. If he didn't know better, Hiro would have thought Ryuichi had gone to sleep on his feet. As it was, Ryuichi's energy seemed to have flagged from the time the elevator's doors had closed to the time they opened again. He stumbled his way out into the short hall and fumbled with a set of keys, Hiro standing half in and half out of the elevator. Ryuichi got the door open, toed off his shoes and stumbled over to the security box hanging on the wall. While he punched in numbers and swore in English, Hiro took his own shoes off and had a quick look around.

First thing he noticed was that Ryuichi's apartment had that not-lived-in feel of a place that was used mostly for sleeping. The entrance was bare, the walls off-white, the wooden floors stained brown, and a few blank doors leading off on three sides. Ryuichi opened the door to their left and stepped inside barefoot, leaning the guitar against the wall. This room was large with open doors to a balcony and another set of doors leading into a kitchen and family room. The furniture was sparse - the main piece being a very American sofa and chair set, with a scattering of huge pillows and bean bags. The off-white walls were decorated by records, album covers and a floor-to-ceiling wall hanging of Grasper signed by the three members of the band. There was a baby grand piano in the corner where others would have had their dining table, its surface covered in music sheets, open sketch books and a laptop.

The family room showed a lot more personality. The walls went from the soft off-white to a deep blue with one whole wall taken up by a flat screen TV, various game systems, and stacks of movies. There were no chairs, only bean bags and giant pillows in bright colors, and pictures of the band and family covered every surface. Ryuichi paused in the room and waved a hand at the kitchen.

"Help yourself to whatever. I need to take a shower."

Ryuichi stepped through another door and Hiro took a quick peek down the hall, but only saw more doors. One was half open, showing a guest bathroom, but the other three were closed shut. Ryuichi disappeared into one of the rooms and Hiro chewed on his lower lip before deciding to go back to the kitchen and get something to drink.

The fridge held only a container of water, some orange juice, beer with a foreign label, and a box of fruit. Hiro checked the freezer and found containers of frozen food neatly labeled in Tohma's precise kanji, and ice cream. Hiro sighed and picked out a can of beer and dug through the cupboards for food. They were depressingly empty save for some ramen and a bag of chips gone moldy. Hiro tossed that and went to sit on a bean bag.

He didn't stay seated long. All the pictures on the wall had him curious and the longer he waited, the more he wanted to see what Ryuichi thought were important enough to stick on the wall. Hiro started near the kitchen first, finding pictures of K and Judy and Michael, articles written in English, a couple photos of a large house in L.A., and one of Ryuichi surrounded by a group of people and all of them in their finest evening wear. There was a few more in the same theme, then concert shots, Ryuichi the solo artist posed with a mic stand, draping himself over a guitar player, sharing a mic with a female singer – that photograph signed with an imprint of bright red lips and sealed inside of glass. There were other shots also in America, from the Grasper's time touring the States to small things, like a recording studio and a bunch of techs, a group of fans holding up CDs, pictures of water works and hotels and strange road side attractions, meals and restaurants and children playing and newspaper prints. Hiro was not even halfway down the wall before he looked away, resting his eyes on the matte black face of the TV screen.

"Yeah, it's a bit much, isn't it?"

Maybe he was getting used to Ryuichi's entrances, but Hiro didn't even jump at the singer's voice coming from behind him. "It's like you decided to start collecting your memories."

"Got it in one."

Hiro took a sip of his beer and turned around, watching Ryuichi as he opened a new pack and lit up. The singer arched an eyebrow and tossed the used match into a container that Hiro didn't notice before since it blended into the wood of the TV stand it sat on.

"Memories change pretty easily, especially if the mind wants to change them," Ryuichi said, shoving his hands into his checkered pants' pockets. "I've learnt that when traveling it's always a good idea to take pictures."

"Is that why we had a camera crew follow us around during the tour?"

Ryuichi laughed, shaking his head. "That's a money making idea. No, the trick is to catch it yourself, not hire someone to catch it for you."

"I don't see any of Hikari," Hiro said, looking at the pictures again.

"I don't keep them on the wall."

With that pronouncement, Ryuichi went into the kitchen. Hiro finished his beer and set the can down on the floor, taking out his cigarettes and lighting up himself. He picked up the can and went into the kitchen, and Ryuichi took it and tossed it into a container hidden in a cupboard under the sink. He poured some orange juice into a glass and added sake, stirring the mixture and taking a sip.

"Are you going to get drunk?"

That question got a chuckle from the older man as he put the juice away and re-corked the sake. Shaking his head, he went into the family room but didn't stop there. Puzzled, Hiro followed him through the family room and down the dimly lit hall to a large bedroom. It was lit by dozens of tiny Christmas lights hanging from the ceiling and over the heavy drapes hanging off of one wall. Kumagoro had a pet carrier here as well, this one a bright blue with glittery kanji on the sides. Ryuichi sat the glass on a chest and crawled onto the bed, his low pants riding lower. Hiro looked away, hoping to find a chair or something but saw nothing besides the American-styled bed, a couple chests, a dresser and the lights.

"Some people accuse me of always being drunk."

"But are you going to get drunk tonight?"

The end of Ryuichi's cigarette glowed as the singer replied, "No. There's no point for it any more."

Hiro gave up on finding somewhere else to sit and sat on the edge of the bed, turning so he can see Ryuichi's face better. "At least you know your limits."

"Are you sure?"

Snorting, Hiro leaned over and jabbed Ryuichi in the ribs, making the singer yelp. "Not always."

The older man made a face and jabbed Hiro back. "Be nice to your old man!"

"I don't see him here!" Hiro jabbed back, and Ryuichi definitely squirmed, pulling his legs in. Slowly, he ground out his cigarette in the ashtray next to Ryuichi's drink, keeping his eyes on the singer. Ryuichi's toes curled in the sheets, keeping his eyes locked on his, cigarette dangling from his mouth. Hiro reached up and took that from him, getting a small whine for his infraction. He ground it out, breaking eye contact, and Ryuichi jumped him in that moment, going for his sides.

But unlike Shuichi, Hiro wasn't that ticklish. Ryuichi was, as he found out by accident. Going shirtless like he usually did didn't help at all as Hiro ran calloused fingers down his sides or poked his back when he tried defending his sides. Even the soles of his feet – tough as they were – were sensitive. Hiro had Ryuichi laughing and giggling, trying to cover himself and sometimes managing to smack him in the sides or on the head with his flailing limbs. It was nice hearing him laugh after everything today, and Hiro found himself laughing with the singer, feeling a cloud of unease disperse.

He didn't know what they were doing to him. He wasn't sure why Tohma of all people trusted him with Ryuichi's safe keeping, but he was sure that the singer just needed a friend right now. His two closest friends had families of their own now, and that meant less time for Ryuichi. Maybe that was why he left after that contest and went to America. Maybe he was trying to find a new place to call home.

The tickling grew serious as his thoughts, Hiro's fingers feather-light against Ryuichi's sides. The singer sucked in his breath, the action outlining the sculpted chest and abs, the narrow sweep of his collar bones, the sharp angle of his hips. Hiro blinked and gave his head a shake, putting a little distance between them before he did something stupid.

Ryuichi sat up, resting an elbow on his knee, his pants ridden down to were Hiro can see the tattoo and realize that it was not one kanji but several, a delicate phrase that did not look like it came from any Japanese story he knew.

"'Art in the blood?'"

"'Is liable to take the strangest forms'," Ryuichi added and picked up his drink. "Why did you stop?"

"Um, because?"

Ryuichi licked his lips, blue eyes glittering as he looked Hiro straight in the eye. Gulping, Hiro looked away, his cheeks burning. He heard the click of glass against wood and felt calloused fingers slide down the bare skin of his arm.

"It wouldn't be right," Hiro said, his voice hoarse. "You're upset and it wouldn't be right if I acted selfish."

"Maybe you should act a little selfish."

"Is that what happened to Hikari's mother?"

As soon as he said it, Hiro felt like bashing his head in. Did he have no tact? What was it about Ryuichi that just made him blurt out everything in his mind without even thinking first? Covering his face with his hands, Hiro groaned and waited for Ryuichi to hit him or kick him out. What was he thinking?

"No." Ryuichi tugged on his right arm, dragging it down so he could see the singer's face. There was a pinched look to his eyes. "She's dead."

With that, Ryuichi leaned up and kissed him.


	11. eleven

**Disclaimers** are the same as before. The same goes for the ratings and everything else. There is some moments of boy on boy action but nothing too graphic. Just some kissing and a little groping.

**Author's notes: ** Well it took me long enough to churn out this chapter. I wanted to go the full jump into the pool but the character of Hiro fought me. Because the character was fighting me I took a long look at how he would react and then had to re-write what I was doing. It seems better but I am not that sure of it. In any case, enjoy.

* * *

Chapped lips and a wicked tongue. He tasted of oranges and cigarettes and Hiro couldn't imagine a less addictive mix. Ryuichi explored his mouth in lazy swipes of his tongue – tickling his teeth and brushing against his tongue and the roof of his mouth. His hands moved in tantalizing circles over his shoulders, his fingers tangling into Hiro's hair and tugging. He gasped, and Ryuichi pressed harder against him.

He didn't know what to do with his hands. He tried grabbing the sheets under him but a wicked twist of Ryuichi's hips had him grabbing on to the singer instead. He fell backwards, scraping against the wall, his hair everywhere and Ryuichi riding him. A sharp gasp, the singer's lips pulled away from his and Hiro caught a glimpse of Ryuichi's face before he was pressed against him again, mouth on his.

Any fan would love to be there, with this legend made flesh pinning them down and ruthlessly attacking them with mouth and hands, but the more Ryuichi pressed against him, the more Hiro felt uneasy. The brief glimpse of his expression, the closed off eyes and slight line between his eyebrows, haunted his thoughts and even as clever fingers found their way into his jeans, Hiro couldn't just let things happen. It took him a moment to shake off his hormones and his want, but then he was fighting off Ryuichi's hands and trying to wiggle free.

"Wait," he gasped, jerking his mouth away and bucking. "Ryuichi, stop."

He clung harder, guitar calloused fingers brushing him. Hiro grabbed his wrist and pulled. Ryuichi went stiff against him and then rolled off, laying across the bed and looking up at the ceiling. Hiro panted and tried to get himself under control because it was close, so close and he could still smell and feel Ryuichi against him. Then the singer sat up leaning slightly over him, blue eyes dark against his pale skin.

"You know," he said, sounding perfectly steady and not like he was trying to swallowing his tonsils earlier. "I can count the times I've been refused on one hand."

Hiro shivered and sat up, trying to comb his hair out and not look into Ryuichi's eyes. "I just. . ."

"You're not as straight as you pretend to be and you're single. I'd figured we could blow a little steam off, no harm in that, but suddenly you're not interested?"

"Huh? No!" Hiro looked up and shivered at how gray Ryuichi's eyes were. It looked as if all the color had been drained from them and from his skin. "I just. . ."

"You just what?"

Hiro couldn't look away even if he wanted to, his thoughts in pieces. "I just thought that doing anything like that while you're mad would only make things worse."

It was like watching a corpse bleed. What little color was left in Ryuichi's eyes and skin faded, even the flush from kissing leaving his lips and the darker streaks of brown in his hair washed out. He stared at Hiro for a long moment and then looked away, sliding off the bed and heading out of the room. Hiro shuddered and gave his head a shake, almost falling off the bed in his haste and followed the singer. He was down the hall, unlocking the third bedroom door and stepping into the darkness beyond. By the time Hiro reached it, Ryuichi had shut the door and locked it.

Hiro blew his breath out in a hiss and knocked on the door. He thought he heard a thud, but pressing his ear against the door, he couldn't even hear Ryuuichi moving around. Hiro tried the knob and then knocked louder. There was no response. He chewed on his lower lip and tried to think. What exactly was in that room? Did he even get a glimpse into it and was there dangerous to Ryuichi inside?

Smacking his head against the door, Hiro sighed. Well, he screwed this up royally, just like how he screwed up everything with Ayaka. But he knew he wasn't really that ready to be with someone new, and that he didn't feel comfortable because he didn't know everything about Ryuichi. There were pieces still missing. He couldn't let things move on until he was sure about where he stood with the singer.

And yet. . .

"I'm so stupid," Hiro muttered, sinking to the floor. He smacked his head against the door before moving across from the door and folding his arms across his chest. "I am not leaving until you come out of there."

Time shifted. Some where between the moment he decided to watch to door and now, Hiro had fallen into an awkward doze. He made a face, pushing some of his hair out of his eyes and tried to remember what had exactly woken him up. He looked up and yelped, the back of his head hitting the wall and making his teeth click together. Standing almost over him, Tohma rubbed the back of his neck and leaned down.

"Are you okay, Nakano-san?"

"I'm fine. . . I just. . ." Hiro rubbed at his head and did not feel any blood, peering up at the keyboardist. "You startled me."

"My apologies, I did not mean to wake you," he replied, crouching down to his level. "I had merely came to see how Ryuichi was faring."

Hiro felt his face flushed. Tohma arched an eyebrow and smiled thinly. "I see. How far did he go before he locked himself away?"

"It was just. . ." Hiro started saying and then stopped, his mouth dropping open. Tohma knew? Tohma knew that Ryuichi would try something and said nothing to him?

Tohma rubbed his face and sighed, actually taking a seat on the floor with his back against the door. He looked tired, worn, something that Hiro never expected him to look like, which killed some of the protest before he voiced it.

"Ryuichi has a few triggers to odd behavior," Tohma said and then stopped, looking down at the floor. He shook his head a little before continuing, "When he gets into certain moods, he loses it in whatever outlet he can find – be it drugs, people or violence. Noriko and I have kept him from harming himself too much but we have our own families to deal with, and cannot always be there to focus his energy to more productive tasks. He has gotten better over the years but. . ."

"You thought that he would do something?"

Tohma hesitated before nodding. "You are not like anyone he has been interested in for a very long time. I am sorry if he acted out of line."

"No, it was just a kiss, I just. . ." He scrubbed at his face, looking past Tohma's shoulder at the door. "Is he going to be alright?"

"Yes." Tohma's mouth jerked up in an attempt at a smile. "Please, go lay down in the guest room. I am sure there are a few articles of clothing you can wear to sleep in. I'll see to it that Ryuichi is fine and make sure he gets to bed."

"Are you sure?"

Tohma looked like he was ready to fall over. It didn't help his perceptions at all when Tohma stood up and had to grab the doorknob to remain steady. But the blond nodded once and straighten, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a set of keys. He separated one from the rest and slid it into the lock. Nodding to him, Tohma then opened the door and stepped inside. There was no angry yelling and quickly shut the door behind him.

Hiro waited for a bit more before getting up from the floor. He tried the doorknob and when it remained locked, he headed for the second room he had noticed earlier. It was clearly a spare bedroom, set up with the very bland feeling of something that was used when he had visitors. Hiro closed the door behind him and then opened the small closet and nearly got buried as a riot of clothing fell out. There were silky stage clothing and frilly skirts, stretchy pants and transparent linens. Hiro untangled a bra from his ear and tried pushing all that back into the closet, wondering exactly how Ryuichi managed to put it in there in the first place.

Giving up after a minute, he left it laying all over and checked the small dresser. The clothing in there was mostly underwear and underthings, a few pieces looking suspiciously like specialty thongs and toys. He found the sleeping clothing in the last drawer, and he selected a pair of pants that looked like they would fit him. He changed quickly and then wondered exactly what was going on in the room next door. He couldn't hear anything, even when he pressed his ear against the wall.

Hiro chewed on his lower lip and sighed. He couldn't do anything about what might be happening in that room. He couldn't leave, especially since Tohma seemed to expect him to stay. Of course, he still wanted to know what was going on and his head hurt too much with the confusion from the past couple hours to focus if he could leave. Besides, he knew that if he showed up at Shuichi's place like this, he wouldn't get any rest. If he was allowed in the apartment that is.

Decision made, he crawled into the bed, expecting to lay awake for most of the night. He fell asleep as soon as he closed his eyes.


	12. twelve

**Disclaimers** are same as before. There is some drug use and Noriko in a thong but don't it worry anyone - it doesn't last long.

**Author's Notes: **Pianissimo Peche is a brand of Japanese cigarettes known for their peach flavor and their rather bright pink package. It is geared for women's tastes more so than men's. As for the type of cigarettes that Hiro and Ryuichi smoke, they usually are smoking Mild Sevens, preferably One Menthol for Ryuichi and One for Hiro. In this part, Ryuichi is having a little pot to relax his mania and to put things in a clearer light. There are people who do this sort of thing to self-medicate mental stress that affects them. I do not think that people should rely totally on drugs, I do understand that there are some problems that something like pot can be useful for.

* * *

"What the hell were you thinking?"

That voice, shrieking almost in his ear, followed by the sound of something hitting the wall right over his head, had Hiro sitting upright, chest pounding and goosebumps covering his skin. A shoe – spiked, bright purple and glittery – flew past his nose and hit the wall, accompanied by several more feminine shrieks. Daring to turn his head, Hiro gulped as Noriko glared, crossing her arms under her chest and making her breasts swell in the lacy embrace of her purple bra. Hiro felt his skin flush and he wondered vaguely if he could crawl away before she killed him.

Noriko continued glaring at the wall. Slowly, almost expecting to get hit, Hiro turned too and almost jumped completely out of bed when he saw Tohma peeking over the edge of the futon, somehow having wedged himself between it and the wall.

"Noriko. . . wait, please!"

"Wait? Did you just ask me to wait?"

"I can explain!" Tohma raised his hands and weakly smiled. "It was for the best!"

"The best." Noriko strode across the room and climbed on the bed. Hiro sucked in his breath and tried to climb up the wall to get out of her way, especially since he noticed that Noriko was only wearing a lacy bra and a matching thong. "You gave him pot, Tohma. Marijuana!"

"I did not. He had some already."

"Who gave it to him?"

"I do not know."

Hiro looked from one to the other and then decided to try to slip free. Maybe if they weren't paying attention to him, he wouldn't have to have any awkward conversations with either Grasper and he could slip away before Ryuichi got up. Especially since a nearly naked Noriko was trying to grab Tohma by the hair and drag him out from behind the futon while cursing with the fluency of a sailor. It was a good time to wiggle free of the covers, grab his jeans and run for freedom. But as he tried hopping into his pants, Hiro noticed that the third room's door was open and he had a clear view of what was in there. He stopped with one foot in, one foot out, his brain short circuiting.

It wasn't Ryuichi laying on his back, feet flat on the floor and a roll-up between his lips that stopped him. It was the instruments lining the room, floor to ceiling in a rainbow of colors and twists of wires. There were synthesizers and guitars, an electric drum set stacked high with tambourines and a delicate triangle, a strange tube craved deep with tribal symbols and a floor harp leaning against the far wall. And as he stood there staring, Ryuichi lifted his head and smiled, lazy and bright and a little hopeful.

"Hey, Hiro, hey. You can some in," he said, his voice a mixture of smoke and smooth smooth sake, and Hiro found himself stepping into the room and inhaling the thick, sweet smoke.

He coughed and crouched down, tugging the roll-up from lax fingers and cautiously pinching the tip out. Ryuichi made a face and took it back, but after a moment of study, he slid it into a metal tube. His arms dropped to the side and his eyes went from Hiro's face back to studying the twisting remains of smoke.

"I don't think you should be smoking that," Hiro said, watching Ryuichi as he stretched, his blue eyes half-hidden under the fall of his hair.

"Noriko is that mad?"

"She's almost naked and throwing shoes at Tohma," Hiro replied, sitting back as Ryuichi sat up.

"Oh. I guess she's not that mad then," he said, running his hands through his hair. He brought one hand to his nose, taking a sniff and shaking his head slowly. "When she throws keyboards, then she's pissed."

"Ryuichi, that's not the point."

"Hm? Does my hand smell like mint?"

Hiro fell back as Ryuichi shoved his hands into his face. Irritably, he waved them aside and grabbed Ryuichi by the shoulders, giving him a hard shake. Ryuichi looked up at him, his eyes huge and almost childish before he dissolved into giggles. Hiro shook him again.

"Ow. Hey, man. What's up with you?"

"You're stoned!" Hiro wondered if there was a way to smack sobriety into a person.

Ryuichi raised his index finger and shook it slowly at him. "I am not stoned. I had half a joint, if that. I'm just really tired."

"What about this?" Hiro asked, waving at the sweet smoke escaping the room. Ryuichi snickered and pushed himself to his feet, wavering a little.

"Tohma smokes _peche_ when he does smoke," Ryuichi said, wrinkling his nose. "It's pretty girly of him to tell the truth."

"He smokes?"

"We were a club band," Ryuichi replied, shrugging and then stretching, curling his bare feet against the floor and raising his hands over his head. "Of course all of us smoke. Unlike Noriko and I, Tohma has Mika to yell at his habits and who would want her mad at them, right?"

Having run into Tohma's wife several times over the years, Hiro had to agree. He might not have been in her line-of-fire but she was still far too scary to get her mad at him. He watched the singer drop his shoulders forward, shaking his hands out and rolling his shoulders. Then standing upright and rubbing his face with his hands, Ryuichi chuckled ruefully, peering up at him through his messy bangs.

"You know, I expected you to bail on me."

"Huh?" Hiro frowned at the sudden change in conversation.

"The whole attacking you thing," he said, waving it off like a fly. "I would have expected you to run off after all that, but I'm glad you didn't."

"Well. . ." Hiro stuttered, his cheeks flushing. "It's not. . . I sort of enjoyed some of it."

"Did you?" The sly look he gave him had Hiro looking at the floor, trying hard to not blush. He realized then that he hadn't really pulled on his jeans and started struggling into them again, cheeks feeling flushed. Fingers tangled in his hair and tugged, and Hiro looked up. Ryuichi bent down and pressed a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth. Hiro blinked even as Ryuichi stepped back and ran a hand through his hair.

"So cute, but I gotta get ready for work."

"Work?"

"You did not think that we were going to preform a song without first making sure that it is ready for marketing?"

Hiro turned. Tohma stood behind him in the hall looking as if he hadn't been hiding behind a futon while his fellow keyboardist wasn't trying to beat him over the head with a shoe, his green checkered suit as crisp as if he just unrolled it from a dry cleaner's bag. Noriko was standing next him, polished in purple jeans and a lacy white shirt, her hair teased into ringlets around her face. Hiro straightened and pushed his hair from his face, wondering at how quickly it took them to go from ruffled to professional. It still took him and Shuichi an hour to get stage ready.

"You have five minutes, Ryuichi," Tohma said and the singer sighed before moving past them and heading for his room. Tohma then smiled at Hiro and if there was any exhaustion in it, he couldn't see it. "You can stay here if you wish, Nakano-san. I am sure that Ryuichi would not mind."

Noriko brushed past him and retrieved the tube from the floor. She made a face and stuck it down the front of her shirt, adjusted her breasts, and glanced over her shoulder at Tohma. The keyboardist raised an eyebrow and she sighed, shaking her head.

"He better not get weird," she muttered and then she was wagging her finger at Hiro. "And you better not start encouraging him to get more."

"I don't like drugs," Hiro said raising his hands in self defense. Noriko frowned and nodded once just as a door banged open and Ryuichi bounced down the hall. He was wearing butter-soft leather and scruffy sneakers, his hair teased into soft feathers and blue eyes made bluer by smudges of shimmering brown powder over the lids. He slung an arm over Tohma's shoulders and smiled.

"I'm ready!"

"About time!" Noriko snapped and headed for the door. "You're always so much trouble."

"But you love me!"

"Don't push your luck, buddy!"

Ryuichi laughed, and tugged on Tohma's hat, getting poked in the ribs by the blond before he untangled himself from the grip. Ryuichi took a step after them, and then turned, stepping into Hiro's space and leaning up to kiss him hard.

He made a noise in the back of his throat, the taste of bubblegum overlaying the sweet, cloying flavor of smoke. It was different than last night, an awareness and passion the other kisses lacked. Hiro could feel strong fingers digging into his hip, the sharp scrape of nails against his scalp. One final nip at his lips and Ryuichi pulled away, his tongue touching his lower lip.

"Yeah," he breathed, and the sound of his voice made Hiro's skin prickle. "I think this is going somewhere."

Ryuichi left and Hiro stood for a minute staring at the door and still feeling the sharp drag of fingers against his hip and lips on his. He shuddered and tangled both hands in his hair, feeling like he was still dreaming and that all of this was nothing more than a hoax. Why him? He was just a guitar player and not really one of the best musicians in the NG family. It just didn't make sense.

In his pocket, his cellphone buzzed. Hiro felt it and for a moment he wondered if it was just another side-effect of what was happening to him. But remembering that he had set it to vibrate yesterday so not to disturb the bands on the stage, he sighed and dug into his pocket. He stared at the caller ID for a long moment, trying to get his mind to work before actually seeing it. _Shu-chan_ it said, and a smile tugged on his lips, remembering at how he switched it to that in order to make Shuichi yell before he pouted at him. The smile slipped away too fast though as he remembered that with everything that was going on, Hiro had not been spending time with his friend. He hadn't even told him about this thing between him and Ryuichi.

Taking a deep breath, he answered the call. "This is Hiro."

"Did you hear?"

He slid down the door, leaning against it and looked up at the ceiling. "Hear what?"

"Aw man, how can you NOT. . ."

Hiro heard the pause in Shuichi's voice and waited for him put things together. He knew that his friend thought himself dumb, and in a way he was, but Shuichi also had a talent to pick up the emotions and problems of those he cared about.

"Are you alright, Hiro?"

"I'm not sure." Hiro rubbed his nose, trying to sort out the muddle that was him mind. "I. . . I think I need to talk."

"I'll come over and hang out. Yuki locked himself in his study muttering something about needing to get his heroine out of a fishnet. I'll bring pizza!'

"Ah, that'll be good," he replied and then laughed. "I'm close by."

"You're not at your apartment?"

"No, I'm at Ryuichi's place."

Hiro closed his eyes, waiting for a sudden shout or maybe even a moment of fan squealing. There was none, only a sucked in breath before Shuichi said, "Give me the address and I'll be there."

As Hiro did so, he wondered if he was doing the right thing.


	13. thirteen

**Disclaimers: ** The same as in the previous chapters.

**Author's Notes: ** So here we have Shuichi talking to Hiro about Ryuichi. The chapter is on the short side but I didn't think we needed to go over everything that has been happening in the fic up to this point. As for the game that Shuichi is holding, just think of it being some super expensive, not-yet-released-to-mass-market piece and leave it at that.

* * *

He had time to take a shower and wiggle on some pajama bottoms that were probably Tohma's at one time since he had a hard time picturing Ryuichi in something with baby ducks on them. Another search through Ryuichi's cupboards did not turn up anything to eat, so he went into the family room, turned on the television and flipped through a few stations. Nothing was really on so he turned it to a daytime drama and laid back against the beanbags and pillows, trying to sort out his thoughts.

Once upon a time, he had wanted the dream – a family filled with children and a loving wife. Maybe it would have been made if he stuck to his parents' plans and went into med school, but he almost thought it would happen anyways with Akaya. It seemed like they were working to something good but then her family stepped in with their ideals and somehow, he and her drifted from those first fumblings and cute dates to sometimes talking to nothing. And now he was sitting in the apartment of a person he never expected would have an interest in him, trying to figure out if this was going to be another failure or something wonderful.

The doorbell went off like a tinkling of broken glass and Hiro jumped to his feet unsure of what the sound was until it was repeated. Running a hand through his hair, he went to answer the door, blinking at the sight of a pizza box shoved under his nose. He took a step back and the box moved aside, showing him Shuichi's concern face under the fall of bright pink hair.

"So where's the jerk?" he said as Hiro took the pizza from him.

"With the rest of his band," Hiro replied and waited for the singer to slip off his shoes before handing the pizza back. "Thanks for coming, Shuichi. I'm starving!"

"He didn't feed you before he molested you?"

Hiro heaved a sigh and smacked him lightly on top of his head. "Idiot. It's not like that!"

"Hey! How am I suppose to know? You sounded like you were all broken up and was having a hard time!"

Rolling his eyes, Hiro took the pizza box away from him and headed for the kitchen. Shuichi stopped his protests to follow. Hiro dug out some seasoning after a minute of banging around and fetched them both beers before diving into the food. Thankfully it kept Shuichi from asking him much, although he did frown at the open space of Ryuichi's apartment and how plain everything was save for the family room.

"What does he do in here?" he asked, pulling a piece of cheese off the edge of the last piece of pizza.

"I really don't know. It's like he has this separate face for the public in that space and keeps the rest hidden." Hiro cut the piece in half and Shuichi grabbed the smaller piece of the two pieces.

"Sort of the way he is in everything," he replied, speaking half to himself.

Hiro didn't reply. Instead he chewed on the crust, his eyes drifting to the wall of pictures and wondering the odd remark about keeping his daughter's pictures some where else. But why would he do that, if the pictures were his way of keeping his memories straight?

"Hiro?"

Shaking his head, he looked over at Shuichi. The singer was leaning forward, frowning at him. "What happened?"

Hiro took a deep breath and told him everything. From when it all started to last night, only leaving out information about Hikari. Shuichi stayed quiet, only nodding or making faces at parts of the story. When Hiro ran out of things to say, Shuichi remained quiet, frowning and staring off at the pictures on the wall. Hiro toyed with his lukewarm beer and waited for the verdict.

"Do you like him?"

Hiro jerked and looked wide-eyed at Shuichi. He couldn't see his expression completely but he knew that he was being serious. "Well. . . he's like nothing I had thought he would be like."

"But do you like him?"

Frowning, Hiro put the beer down and thought about it. He had never really given himself time to really think about how he would feel if he didn't see the older singer from day-to-day, or at least hear his voice. He never thought long about it, only thought about all the games and the teases and the way he would say something and then turn around and not say anything.

"Yeah. . ." he replied, feeling his stomach clench in response. "I think I do."

Shuichi leaned over and smacked him across the back of the head. "Then stop being an idiot!"

"I. . . what?"

Shuichi poked his finger against his side, frowning. "You told me once to go after what I really wanted, remember? When I first met Yuki and I couldn't decide whether I should act on something so strange and yet it felt so right to find love with a guy. Now it's my turn to tell you to go after him."

"But," Hiro said, feeling like a boat had just thrown him into a cold lake. "It's Sakuma-san!"

"So? Does that name make him any better than you or me?"

"Shuichi, he tried to hurt you," he said slowly, hoping he didn't have to spell it out. His friend frown and poked him again in response.

"So? Big deal. If he couldn't handle the competition then maybe he shouldn't have set it up in the first place."

Hiro continued to stare at Shuichi. The singer stared straight back him, and then heaved a sigh.

"Look, he's a jerk. He's got this ego the size of the ocean and he acts a lot like he's been spoilt and expects everyone to agree with him," Shuichi said. "But under that is this guy who's been alone for a very long time. The only people around him are friends who really don't have the time for him like they used to and people that are paid to keep him happy. If he really cares for you and you can make him happy, he might become a better person."

"Shuichi. . ."

"And if he tosses you aside, I will hurt him so badly he wouldn't even remember what Kumagoro's name is!"

He couldn't help it; Hiro laughed and ruffled Shuichi's hair at the threat. Of all the things he could have said, that reassured that his best friend understood where he was coming from and had accepted that things have gotten a little more intense than they should have. He was good with it even if it meant that things would change between them.

"So did you see what kind of games he has?"

Hiro shook his head. Shuichi frowned and hopped off his chair, diving to the television and the number of games stacked up around it. After a moment of studying, he screamed and tipped the pile over, picking up the bottom-most game and hugging it tight against his chest.

"I can't believe that he has it! Hiro! We need to play this!"

"I'm not so sure. . ."

Shuichi glared at him over the game and Hiro sighed and looked at the huge television. Well Ryuichi did say to help himself.

"Fine. Let me clean up."

At Shuichi's cheer, he smiled. Despite how awful it had been to tell him about Ryuichi and growing attracting between him and the singer, it was nice to know that Shuichi would still be his friend and care for him. And that he would be there if this did end up a mess and his needed someone to lean against before rebuilding his life again.


End file.
